Minor Arcana Pt 2: Pervinco
by Isolde
Summary: COMPLETE. Sequel to Declaro. In Harry’s 7th year.... Slash HPDM, HPSS, SSDM, RLDM all at least implied ; RWHG. Continued in Consensio, which can only be READ ON SKYEHAWKE: http://archive./authors.php?no 92
1. The Rules

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first, I think. Find it through the author link.

Rating: This chapter PG-13 (probably less). Rating will go up.

Category: Drama/Romance 

Pairings: This chapter – elements of SS/DM, HP/DM, SS/HP, HG/RW. 

Summary: In Harry's 7th year a wizarding tradition is being revived. It seems to have trapped Snape, Draco and Harry in a strange triangle, but that's only part of the problem. This was initially inspired by Diana Williams' "The Courtship of Harry Potter". 

Notes: I think this chapter is rather dull, myself, but people were asking for more plot clarification, so I've given it a go. After I get some plot movement next chapter you'll have to let me know if this one seemed worth it. The next one might take a few days – work looms. 

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Definitely – especially to tell me what works and what doesn't.

****

Pervinco I: The Rules 

Harry stayed in his bed for some time after he awoke, listening to the others gathering in the common room. Eventually, Ron called out to him, and Harry mumbled something about the shower. When the last of them had clomped out of hearing on the stairs, Harry dragged himself to the window. He wasn't surprised that Thetis was there, flicking her head in his direction.

"Come on in, then, I'll get you something." She leapt to the sill, but didn't enter. 

"I suppose you're not allowed to be nice to anyone are you?" The bird swung its head away and back to him, almost speculatively.

Harry retrieved some of Hedwig's owl treats, and put them on the sill while he got writing materials. "Here. Eat them or don't eat them. It won't mean you like me." 

//Dear Professor Snape// He smiled when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thetis cautiously select a treat. 

//I was very surprised to receive your declaration. I am sincerely flattered, and keenly aware of how much you might have to offer me. 

I will of course give this very serious consideration over the forthcoming weeks.// 

There you go – I can do ambiguous as well. 'Trying to impress him, Harry?' some little voice asked, and he made a face at it. 

How did one sign off to imply 'yes I want it to be you, but you really are a mean bastard and I probably should pick someone else so why am I not going to'?

//Sincerely Yours, Harry Potter//

He fixed the note to the small owl's leg, and was just letting her out as Ron burst into the room, panting. He looked at the bird, who dove out with a flutter of wings, and then at Harry's self-conscious expression. "So it's true then," he said in a shocked tone.

* * *

Harry entered the Great Hall to – not quite silence, but careful observation accompanied by whispering. He crossed to the 7th year end of Gryffindor, and people – didn't quite leave as he arrived, but drew together and avoided meeting his eyes. Ron came in beside him but walked off without a word to Hermione. She clearly made to head his way, but Ron intercepted her and, after a minute or so, she gave Harry a startled look.

Seamus and Dean were stagily engaged in a conversation about Quidditch, and not looking his way. Neville was sitting next to them with a copy of the _Prophet_ and, after a moment's struggle, he looked up, gave Harry a small smile, and passed him the open magazine. Harry noted the other copies along the table, all open at the same page; multiple small Harry Potters turning a startled smile to multiple readers. 

//From Draco Malfoy (Hogwarts), Hilary Malkin (London), Severus Snape (Professor, Hogwarts), Genevieve Weasley (Hogwarts), to Harry Potter (Hogwarts).//

Which made it sound almost simple. Photo-Harry smiled his surprised smile next to the headline: //Harry Potter Rite Controversy//. He glanced up, and multiple looks glanced away. He might have read the article, he might have walked away, he might have done something else, he wasn't sure what, but Headmaster Dumbledore cleared his throat. 

Harry carefully didn't look anywhere, including the staff table, except at the Headmaster. 

"I would like the 7th year students to stay behind this morning for a separate assembly. Other students may go to their first period classes. Have a good morning, all of you." The lower year students moved off, looking around for a clue as to the special event. Harry caught sight of Draco, leaning against the head table's platform near to Slytherin but quite alone. He moved that way, and first the Gryffindors, then the Hufflepuffs, then the Ravenclaws and finally the Slytherins observed him, occasionally catching his eye or saying hello, as if from a distance or as if they hadn't seen him for years. It was painful, and Harry looked at Dumbledore instead, who gave him one of those warm knowing smiles. When he got to the platform, Draco was gone, and before Harry could look elsewhere Hermione practically bowled him over with a hug. 

****

* * *

MILLICENT

"So we were all ushered into the staff common-room, which is very nice by the way," I'm telling Syria Throstle-Morton and her friends, and it's nice to have them so eager to crowd around me – they aren't usually as I'm not Draco's particular friend. Well, not that anyone's quite game to be Draco's particular friend at the moment, until we have a better idea what he's doing and what it will mean. But they're hanging on my words tonight. 

"What's it like?" Daphne Clearwater asks.

"No, tell us what Dumbledore said," Syria says, and then they're bickering about what they want to know first, which is quite fun for me.

I clear my throat, and they hush and re-arrange themselves around the 3rd year Slytherin dorm, all expectant. 

"It was about the Rite, of course," I say, and they gather in a little closer. To the lower year Slytherin girls the whole thing seems so romantic, all handsome wizards and glamorous witches finding their destiny in battles of wit, power, beauty and wealth. Of course, for us it's not quite like that. Personally, I'm choosing between an internship in International Wizarding Relations and a proposal from Antony Hopwood, who I didn't like when we were ten, and I don't like much more now he can apparate and shave. "Well, the 7th year curriculum is being changed to accommodate it, which means a lot of different things for us in comparison to all of you."

Daphne sighs. "I can't wait to be in 7th year now." They all agree, though Syria's a bit smarter and I think she already sees that it might be more complicated than it seems. 

She's the one who asks me directly, sick of the gushing – "So, what's happening?"

"Well, Dumbledore was giving us advice about how we shouldn't forget about the N.E.W.T.s just because of the Rite, and to remember that there were many other ways to find your path in the world. All of that. He also said that Hogwarts will require we have at least two witnesses for our negotiations." They roll their eyes, groan, or flop impatiently about on beds or the floor. They think Dumbledore is such an old fuddy-duddy. Children.

"But parents are keen, and students are interested, so there's nothing they can do except accept it, I expect." They actually giggle at that, and maybe I would rather be talking to Pansy and the others, but she's in such a funk about Draco, and the 7th year girls' dorm is really not a good place to be right now.

"So McGonagall has been made Convenor of the Rite at Hogwarts," I continue. They all pull faces because all Slytherin girls hate McGonagall. "And she gave us the list of changes to our curriculum, and information on parts of the Rite being done here." 

"Can you tell us?"

"Yes." They're squealing with delight, and it's foolish, but in a nice way. "Some of it," I lie, because it never does to have them think you're not holding something back.

"We have an extra period on Wednesdays and Thursdays, a special version of DADA, and another on Fridays for a whole new subject called 'Wizarding Society', and which we even have in the staff rooms." I was pretty impressed myself. Andromeda Monk says her cousin at Durmstrang has a special Rite class as well, called Wizarding Bloodlines. They all groan at that, both because Andromeda never shuts up about her cousin at Durmstrang, and because Wizarding Society sounds so much better. How much have we all heard about 'bloodlines' anyway – take my mother. . .

We're past the Declarations and into the stage of gifts, meetings and demonstrations. First, until the Autumn Equinox, we're supposed to reject the people – they're called supplicants (and I swear I think Daphne nearly wet herself at that) – whose declarations we definitely don't want to consider. And the others we accept, but that just means that we go through the gifts and formal meetings part and can't get rid of their declarations till Mid-Winter. It's all about the sun that part, apparently. I've never liked Astronomy. And although Hermione Granger claims she'd never seen any such thing in any book about the Rite, at Halloween there's a festival in London, with magical trials and a big party. Anyway, that's what's set out by the Preservation of Wizarding Culture people, who know more than Hermione Granger about such things I'm sure. But of course McGonagall just smiled at her like she's so clever. 

I don't know about the demonstrations, I tell Syria when she asks, but no one seems to, and I tell her that too. Miss I'm So Sophisticated For My Age gives me a look, and I'd love to find a way to remind her that Draco is Gay, and Living in Gryffindor Tower With a Werewolf. Instead, because I'm not a Bulstrode daughter for nothing, I distract them all with the story about the Hufflepuff girls' objection to the Rite and their request not to participate. Granger supported them and said she'd go too, but she's such a hypocrite because she's got three declarations of her own – and even one from a Professor. Syria suggests maybe a Weasley doesn't count, and we all laugh. McGonagall was very understanding, of course, but she actually said it had to be all 7th years, no exceptions. 

They're all thanking me. Then Syria starts going on about Granger and Weasley getting caught half undressed in the Astronomy Tower, which I don't believe for a minute because Granger's the most frigid girl in the whole school, so I have to pull out my ace – the blue robes. These are for when you've finished accepting and rejecting, and they're to say I'm available and those of you left are the only ones in the running. This is pretty big news and I spin it out until they're perfectly primed for Pansy's picture. The witch in the photograph spins all the way around and draws her wand to her hip, looking over one shoulder. The robes are really dark blue silk – I think it's silk – with buttons that run diagonally from the shoulder across the chest and then fasten at the waist. They're jostling to see and I tell them Pansy says they're so close-fitting, all over she says, that she doesn't think you'd be able to wear ordinary clothes underneath. There's a collective gasp of excitement, and I have to tell that part several more times. 

* * *

HARRY:

Ron's not not talking to me. He's just not talking to me. Sometimes he's kind of quiet, like he's avoiding me even though we're together. Other times he's acting quite normally, just as if he's kind of confused. He hasn't mentioned Snape's declaration, and I'm reluctant to bring it up. Hermione's watching Ron's reaction, and the rest of the house is following his lead in confusion and cautious avoidance. It's making me crazy. 

It's Tuesday night, and we're all in the common room early because Quidditch practice was canceled due to rain. It's been raining on and off for days and we're all tired of it. Lavender says she thinks it's an omen, and sneaks a glance at me, but Lavender is hopeless at sneaky so I see it, as does everyone else. 

"That's enough!" Hermione's Potions notes topple from my lap onto the floor. "Just stop it, all of you." Everyone looks at me, Hermione looks upset, and Ron looks kind of grim. 

"What do you mean, Harry?" Dean says after a pause that's too long to be convincing.

"Snape sent me a declaration. He sent one to Hermione too." Of course I know what the big deal is, but I can't let it go on like this even if it means things are worse. 

There's an audible snicker to my left and I know it's Seamus, but I don't want to pick personal fights. Everyone waits for Ron to say something. I'm not sure how he got elected Gryffindor spokesman, exactly, but it's been that way for a while, especially on the subject of Harry Potter. I can feel Hermione's tension too, but it's not like she's been very supportive the last couple of days – she just told me I didn't seem shocked and, when I couldn't think of what to say to that, she remembered an Arithmancy project she should be working on. 

"Harry," Ron says eventually, "everyone knows why Snape would ask Hermione to be his apprentice."

"He didn't ask me to be his apprentice," I reply, because although I know where this is going it has to go there.

"So what did he ask you for then?"

There's a wholly tense silence, and I can think of ways to fill it that won't leave me an outsider here. Sorry, leave me looking like more of an outsider here than I always am.

"Hermione?" I turn to her, because she'll want to cut this down to the least possible boy-related stupidity. "What did I do that was so embarrassing at Draco's party?"

She doesn't want to say, I know it, and Ron doesn't want her to say, clearly, but everyone else is dying to know. "Nothing," she says, and I'm surprised she doesn't have the courage. "At least, not at the party." Ron is blushing and looking at the floor. "But after," Hermione looks at her hands, "you were. . . talking about what Professor Snape smelt like." The collective breathing in probably includes me. "And, when we were trying to get you to bed," Ron turns an even deeper red, "you said you'd pay to kiss him – Snape I mean," a titter runs around the room, "just to know what it was like."

"Ah." I say. Everyone waits on me now. "Well, it's a little more juvenile than I'd hoped."

"And that's what he wants from you?" Ron exclaims. I think he's decided there's something to defend me from, which certainly seems to feed the mood in the room. Seamus is already scowling. 

"No." God, this is harder than you'd think. These are my friends, and this is what I always knew the story would have to be. I know I'm blushing, and I don't much care because my hands are sweating too and I feel cold and hot at once. "I'm only saying I am interested in him. That way." They don't gasp or titter; they just sit there. On a lightening fast scan I think only Neville and the girls are looking at me. "I promised I wouldn't talk about his declaration," I say in a rush, "because he's very private – and I'm sure he said the same to Hermione," I add, on faith that Snape is as paranoid as I think he is. She nods, which is actually a bit disappointing. "But he hasn't said he's interested in me. I think," knowing this probably breaks my promise not to talk about it, "he's trying to protect me."

It's Ron that immediately says, "From Malfoy, I'll bet." 

Suddenly the room is broken up into a buzz over new plots against Harry or over the-boy-who-is-gay or over whatever else is now just as interesting once that's cleared up. Hermione and Ron are clearly expecting something more, and are both looking at me, Ron's head on her knee, her hand in his hair. 

I slip out upstairs and figure they'll follow if they really want to talk about it. 

* * *

At 4.10pm, the 7th year students begin to file into the new 1st floor DADA rooms, to be met by Professor Lupin. They greet him enthusiastically – even the Slytherins who hate the idea of another Gryffindor on staff find Lupin the Werewolf interesting. 

The room is bare polished boards with large windows down one long side and bars along the opposite wall – a platform at one short end and rows of cages at the other. Kind of like ballet studio for sado-masochists, Pansy whispers from behind Hermione, who coughs in a choking sort of way. Pansy laughs and walks over to Zabini. 

"As I'll be running the normal Defense against the Dark Arts classes downstairs as well as these extra classes," Lupin continues after the welcomes, "so I've been given an assistant for the rest of the year. You all know Draco, of course."

There is shuffling and murmuring as Draco moves forward and opens a red lacquered cupboard, carefully removing stacks of paper. As Lupin talks about adapting Defense principles for senior students, Draco moves quietly through the class.

Harry hasn't spoken to Draco since dinner with Remus, which can only be because that's what Draco wants. He's partly sure Draco is jealous, though not positive whether that's jealous of Harry or of Snape. The rest of him is kind of. . . worried. Draco looks even paler than usual, and it's very noticeable how the Slytherins are avoiding him. Also, there always seems to be a Professor with him – one happens to pass by after class and walk with him to the next one, or has an urgent message that Draco can carry in the breaks. 

He's heard the rumors too. Rumor 1, Draco no longer lives in the dormitories, but in a room of his own off Lupin's quarters. Rumor 2, Draco and Lupin have been lovers since the summer and that's the reason for his rift from his father. Rumor 3, Lucius Malfoy has ordered the death of Lupin and return of his son to Malfoy Manor for a huge reward and Dumbledore is hiding them. Rumor 4, Malfoy has ordered the death of both Lupin and Draco. Rumor 5, Lupin has become a Death Eater and Draco is training him as his father trained him. Feeling marginal to the gossip in his house right now, mostly because so much of it is about him, Harry isn't sure where he stands between 1 and 3, or if he's missed something. 

Draco passes him a folio of paper and Harry tried to catch his eye but, without obviously looking away, Draco avoids it. Remus explains that several elements of the Rite involve magical skills and special ways of presenting them, such as the trial planned for Halloween this year. The folios explain how magical skills are part of the Rite, and what kinds of demonstrations and duels – "Duels!" "Yes, Dean, duels." – have been listed by the Ministry in this year's revised protocols. 

After a few minutes, Hermione raises her hand.

"Why exactly are there duels and demonstrations? This seems to talk about the history but not about why we would be doing this now."

Padma adds, "Yes, I mean, isn't it a bit primitive, really?" Hermione gices her an appreciative smile. "There are other wizarding talents – like say divination – that can't be displayed in a duel." Hermione withdraws her smile and raises a disdainful eyebrow.

"I think you'll find that's covered in other demonstrations, Padma."

"Oh," she says happily, with a smile at Lavender. "Ok."

* * *

In the second special DADA tutorial, instructions about dueling for the Rite were explained by Remus and modeled by Draco. Draco seemed to be producing the class's written materials as well, because Harry had, to his shame, compared the script in the last folio to a mean note in one of his Potions journals. 

He was intrigued by this reticent Draco, who used none of the Charm and the Wit, but all of the Malfoy Cool, to function almost without speaking to anyone in every situation. Draco slid by in his green robes, adjusting wand positions to conform to the Rite's regulations. Seamus muttered something about how stupid it was to only be able to use your wand from this height to that height. Goyle made a suggestive comment about Malfoy's arse as he passed by. Malfoy didn't acknowledge it at all, but Harry noted that Goyle still had his wand completely out-of-line once Draco had passed by. 

Harry wanted Draco to talk to him; wanted to know what was happening with his father, and with Remus, without having to go to Remus for the answers. But he would, if he had to. Hadn't they formed some kind of allegiance? Had that all been somehow, obscurely, about Snape? Did Draco know Snape wasn't allowed to declare an interest in him? Did Harry care that he was certain Snape would have preferred Draco to himself? 

Probably. Don't know. Yes. 

The first practice duel, mainly to ensure they all understood the formalities and style, was between Lupin and Draco. Harry felt oddly nervous as they lined up against one another, and a kind of internal flutter at how coolly Draco positioned himself in the correct manner, wand at a 60 degree angle from just above his right upper thigh, left hand extended. It was. . . he looked great, while everyone else looked ridiculous trying to do the stance. He supposed Remus looked ok too. 

At the magical bell, both of them moved, and Draco swiveled and dipped to let a jellylegs curse pass him by as he cast a sleeping curse at Lupin. The werewolf ducked, but it glanced just off his shoulder and he fell. Draco was quickly at his side, and called for water. Students looked around and someone mentioned Madame Pomfrey, but Draco had flourished his wand before anyone actually did anything. 

As Draco offered Professor Lupin the water, Snape's voice floated across the large room from the doorway. "Actually, Draco, you could have used Excieo," he said, walking towards them. "Or perhaps Expergefacio," he added with a smile, "if your intentions are a little more precise." Draco gave a small laugh, and a few students blushed or whispered while most, including Harry, just looked on blankly. "You can't rely on water being nearby," Snape finished. 

"Of course, but. . ." he looked around, and Harry felt strangely like he had no idea what other things Draco might have been looking at from that position, "this is Hogwarts."

"It is," Snape replied.

* * *

Under his invisibility cloak, carefully pressed to the non-Slytherin-dormitory side of the corridor, Harry watched Pansy Parkinson close Snape's office door, look carefully about her, and very quietly burst into tears. For about thirty seconds. By the time she'd passed Harry she'd stopped, whispered what was probably a cleaning or drying or calming spell – maybe a combination – and turned up the stairs towards the dormitory. 

Harry thought he'd never look at her the same way again, and it didn't exactly help him do what he needed to do.

He'd been happy – yes, happy – to see Blaise go up and speak with Draco after the tutorial. He'd wanted to as well, but it clearly wouldn't be welcome. But then, when the other students had filed out, he had stood in the door and watched Snape and Draco speak quietly, as if they were friends and, moreover, equals. It was unreasonably chilling; he was entirely jealous. 

He stepped up to the door and waited a moment, listening to the corridors and stairs. No one. He knocked. 

As Severus opened the door, he pulled off the cloak. 

The Professor's face was impassive. "What do you want, Mr Potter," he said crisply. 

"I need to talk to you."

"I specifically said you should not come to my rooms."

"It's important."

Snape opened the door – just. "You have five minutes." 

Less than a minute later Harry was furious. ". . .what's going on with Draco?"

"Perhaps you should talk to Mr Malfoy."

"He doesn't want to talk to me, apparently."

"And yet you want me to discuss his personal affairs with you."

"Why is Draco living with Remus? For his protection? Don't you think I need to know?"

"Actually, I can't think of any reason why you need to know."

Harry leant against the door. Against this door, he remembered, and he tried to catch Snape looking away, or any other sign that. . . "You asked me to keep an eye on Draco."

"A suggestion, rather, that you used to your own ends."

"Well, I. . . care what's going on with him," he met Snape's eyes, "I'm sure you know that I do." Snape didn't confirm or deny, which in Snape-ese seemed to mean he had no objection to the statement. "And I just want to know. . ."

"I will not discuss confidences with you that are none of your concern," Snape said sternly, walking towards the door. He kept a significant distance between them, Harry realised. "However, as he has strategically unlearned discretion, undoubtedly the Headmaster will inform you further of his plans regarding Draco's situation at the next meeting of the Order." Snape pointedly opened the door. "Goodnight Mr Potter." 

Furious as he was, Harry felt he had no choice but to leave. He stormed, fuming, back towards the tower. He didn't see Millicent Bulstrode coming down for cocoa from Slytherin, but she watched him mutter past with some interest. 

* * * 

The Friday edition of the _Daily Prophet_ included in the social pages a small story about the appointment of Draco, son of Lucius, Malfoy as assistant at Hogwarts to the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Remus Lupin. 

In a smaller sidebar it offered an apology for the omission from the last list of declarations of an offer from Remus Lupin to Draco Malfoy, which had for an unknown reason not been retrieved from the Hall of Record along with the other declarations on the final day. Harry reread that small box two or three times. 

As usual, since Tuesday, Draco sat on his own at the furthest end of the Slytherin table – although today Harry saw Blaise pass him Draco rolls without being asked and Pansy offer her copy of the _Prophet_. As he neared the table Draco clearly stood to leave. 

"Malfoy," he said. "Can we talk?" 

Goyle chortled, spraying crumbs. "No, he's not talking to you, Potter. Draco's miffed his lover's been stolen away by the boor-who-lived." 

Pansy made a hushing noise and Blaise whispered at him to shut the fuck up, but Crabbe laughed and added, loudly, "Yeah and who is Malfoy without his pederasts anyway?" 

Draco had been two or three paces away from the table, but he was very quickly leaning over Crabbe's shoulder. "You know," he said in a low pleasant tone, "I suggest you don't let that comment be passed on to either Snape or my father. It might not do you a lot of good." Crabbe paled a little, although Goyle made a derisory noise. "Also, whoever helped you out with the word – because pederast really isn't in your vocabulary – they're making a fool of you Vincent. It's inaccurate, as I'm of age, but it's also not something you should ever be heard saying about a Malfoy. Be a bit more careful, Vincent – I'd hate for people to think Slytherins were idiots." 

Crabbe looked at his plate, as if thinking that through, but Goyle laughed loudly. 

"You think you're so smart," he said in cheerful nasty voice, "but you won't be able to weasel out of things forever, Dra-co. You're father's coming to see you." 

Everyone at the table paused for Draco's response, but he rode out the silence with a thin smile. "Really?" he said. "You shock me. His letter this morning informing me of his visit never would have given it away." 

While the Slytherins processed, reprocessed, or gaped at this, Draco walked off towards the outer door, giving Harry only a casual glance. Blaise and Pansy said goodbye. Harry set out to find Remus. 


	2. a The Plumed Serpent

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first, I think. Find it through the author link.

Rating: This chapter PG-13. Rating will go up.

Category: Drama/Romance 

Pairings: This chapter – elements of SS/DM, HP/DM, SS/HP, HG/RW. 

Summary: In Harry's 7th year a wizarding tradition is being revived. It seems to have trapped Snape, Draco and Harry in a strange triangle, but that's only part of the problem. This was initially inspired by Diana Williams' "The Courtship of Harry Potter". 

Notes: The last two scenes are proving difficult so this is 2 (a) until I can find some actual time, and so I won't spend that time rewriting this part. As it is, this chapter comes across rather more D/H than anything so far. 

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Definitely – especially to tell me what works and what doesn't.

****

Pervinco II (a): The Plumed Serpent 

By lunch time he still couldn't find Remus. He should be one place, and he'd already left. He should be in another, and he'd been called away by an emergency. Harry was frustrated and cross by the time Hedwig intercepted him on the windowed landing outside Gryffindor, flourishing a scroll tied to one leg. 

He patted his robe for treats, but they made little lumps in the stupid green robes, so he'd stopped carrying them. 

"Sorry Hedwig old girl." Harry ran a hand gently along her back, and she made a soft amiable noise. After all, she wasn't going hungry. 

He knew the letter was from Sirius well before he slit open the anonymous seal. He'd avoided thinking about what his godfather might say. 

* * * 

HARRY:

What a ridiculous day. 

Ignored by Malfoy, dismissed by Snape, missed lunch, ran around looking for an absentee werewolf, and got an outraged letter from my godfather. I can't imagine what Snape or even Remus must have received.

So after two hours of trying to find a way to imply that Snape's declaration is a good idea without saying it's none of Sirius's damned business, I'm trudging to the owlery – tired, still hungry, and mad at most things. Seamus would not shut up about Draco and Remus, and what that proved, and Padma and Parvati sat in the corner repeatedly asking what the Headmaster could be thinking. Ginny was there, and kept looking at me mournfully, and Lavender kept comforting her as if I'd done something wrong, and Hermione and Ron played we're-subtle-about-our-relationship by the fire. And, ok, maybe I'm a bit jealous, but all of a sudden they're so very superior and so 'oh Harry, really. . .'

I sulk around the corner and almost run into Malfoy. He brushes close by without looking at me, and it takes me a second to realise I'm wearing the invisibility cloak. 

Draco paces back again to the arches through which the owls enter. He looks nervous – at least for Malfoy. He even impatiently hops up and down before pacing my way again. It's rather. . . exciting to be able to watch Draco without his being in charge of what I see, or able to make me feel guilty or nervous because I am. I watch him. Near the door again he stops, and listens. I hold my breath and my position. By now I have lots of experience using the cloak in silent ways, but I know how well-trained Draco Malfoy must be. It's a wonder he didn't hear me stomping down the corridor. 

Childishly stomping down the corridor. Right now, everything I've done in the last couple of days looks different – I've been. . . stupid, selfish, and really lucky I didn't find Remus, didn't talk to Snape, and didn't send Sirius this letter. I want Draco to talk to me, but he's trying to stay safe just as much as I am, maybe more – I really don't know what's at stake for him but his life's been turned upside down. I want Sirius to worry about and help me, but leave me alone. I want Snape to want me, as he'd never want someone who barged into his room demanding to be told secrets, or gossiped about him to a room full of nosy students. I'm an idiot.

Draco paces back to the outer wall, and when he leans against it with the moon in his hair he's as gorgeous as he's ever been. I'm a child, I'm an idiot, and I'm as turned on as I've ever been.

I take off the cloak and he half jumps and reaches for his wand but quickly recovers, stepping back against the wall. "Harry."

"So I'm Harry again now?" I say, walking towards him. He's leaning on one of the arches, the moon slicing across his face, silver on pale. 

"Perhaps you should put some thought into where and when it's safe for us to talk. . ."

"Are you really in danger, Draco?"

He laughs, shortly. "Oh no, I'm fine. Just because I've refused to go home, defied my father for more than a week, and am currently living with and under the protection of two of his most despised enemies, and given Lucius has a dangerous and precise temper – no, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

"Would he hurt you?"

He hesitates. "No. . . not unless it served some purpose. He's an intelligent man."

It occurs to me that. . . "You actually admire him."

"Of course," Draco replies diffidently. "There's a lot to admire."

"Really?" I say, and I hope that sounded sarcastic rather than astonished.

"You only see Death-Eater equals evil. He's more complex," he shifts with obvious discomfort and looks away; "it's much more complex than that."

Looking out into the night, still doing his glamorous moonlit boy thing, he's so much more beautiful than – him – than Severus Snape. Actually, as he looks back at me, glimmering grey stone chips for eyes, he's breathtaking. And now I actually have some idea – some better idea – what it might be like to kiss him.

"Is it true you're part Veela?" I say, and then wish I could bite off my tongue when he turns and laughs at me. Although, Draco laughing in the moonlight. . . "Well, that's the gossip. We laugh at it too, but sometimes it's kind of easy to believe."

Draco gives me what looks like a warm smile. "Are you saying I'm attractive, Harry?"

It'd be ridiculous to blush, so I laugh. "You know you're that, you arrogant jerk. I'm trying to say you're beautiful." He gives me what clearly is a warm smile, and sometimes he's abnormally beautiful: like ice and silk and light. It's almost a weapon.

"Maybe long ago, on Narcissa's side. With Lucius it's just charisma, and good breeding."

"Right," we're both laughing, but I notice how quietly. "Will he hurt you?"

"Yes." He says, without apparent resentment. "Enough to remind me what I owe allegiance to. Enough that he can trust me again." Draco puts a hand on the ledge of the owlery, peering down into the darkness. "I hoped my mother might help me mend the bridge somewhat. Lucius has a long arm, and I can't just be imprisoned here."

"Is there something I can do?" I ask, and he looks at me strangely, maybe amazed I think there's anything I could do, or maybe amazed that I'd want to.

He moves to the door, listens, casts _silentium_ – which is a good choice because low profile but solid enough – and returns to me with a serious expression that makes his face more angular and, as he enters the moonlight again, even sharp, like his father's. 

"Yes," he says quickly. "Accept my declaration. Now. It's what he wants – though I'm not sure exactly why. It'll buy me time and give me a reason for staying here."

I'm playing into Malfoy's plans, aren't I? It does, it really does, occur to me that Draco may be out here just for this – he hasn't been alone for days and now, just as I am wandering around, stomping around. . . and is it really possible Malfoy didn't hear me coming, didn't know I was here all the time. . .?

"All right."

That expression is either brilliant acting or genuine surprise, and I really don't know which. But he doesn't ask if I'm sure, or if I mean it. Just says "Thank you." 

"So we have a truce then?" I say, as lightly as I can.

"Yes." He almost sounds regretful. "A truce between pawns."

There's a rustle of birds in the shadows around us and, as they predict, an arrival. It's Draco's eagle owl. She hops three skips across the stone towards him and turns her head. There's no parcel or letter, but something around her neck, which Draco slips off. A ring slides along a silver chain. I watch him bite his lip and slip the whole thing into a pocket.

"Bad news?"

"Not good news." He brushes the bird's head with one hand and produces an owl treat from nowhere with the same hand. "Cybele," he says fondly. "Good girl." She springs off towards the roost. 

Draco openly assesses me, with his sharp head on one side like a bird. Not a threatening look, but challenging. He moves closer and puts a hand on my shoulder. This time there's no calculated playing on my attraction – at least not that I can see.

"Will you do it now?" I nod; there's a tight feeling in my chest. "Do you know how?"

Huh. Yes, I've caught up. I didn't want to go into anything with Snape uninformed. I've far too much experience doing that. "Yes, I know." He looks a little impressed. "It's not complicated," I add, self-consciously. "I mean, there are a few ways, but we can probably dispense with the script and bird version – even though, actually, we do have everything here. I mean, we could just go for the personal seal. . ."

"You're nervous," he says, and I concede it. I haven't done this before, obviously, and I have a sudden panicked thought that Snape might not be at all pleased. But, he'd want it for Draco, surely, and I have a jealous flash of triumph that we're here like this. He wouldn't even talk to me, and now I'm about to. . .

"The seal means I give you something personal, or I could write on you. . ." I'm shocked but excited by the anticipation of what I'm about to say, "or I could kiss you."

"That will work?" Draco asks, and I know we're going to do it. I feel both deceitful – not that there's anything real happening between Snape and I – and thrilled. I'm suddenly half hard, a warm pool tingling in my groin, my heart beating faster, though Draco seems perfectly calm. 

I manage to say "Yes." I take out my wand and still him with a hand on one shoulder – I can feel his strength shfting under my hand. Carefully I say "_ego agnosco_." I reach out and take his hand. That's so strange there's an instant in which I think I won't remember the words – "_vos suscipio_." And then I lean forward, sensing the nearness of his white skin before I press my lips to his mouth. It's soft, and gives beneath me. His hand slips in mine. I feel his shoulder move, and my heart beat, and then we're drawing apart. Our lips stick, dragging our mouths slightly open. I feel his breath touch my mouth and look down – "_pervinco_." We both feel the spell take effect.

He doesn't let go of my hand right away. 

A little nervously I laugh, "Breakfast will be interesting again," turning away.

Millicent Bulstrode is standing in the doorway. 

* * *

Neither the second week of tutorials with Professor Lupin nor the commencement of the Quidditch season could alleviate how serious the next week seemed. There were so many tensions between the students that they seemed like an entirely different group than the ones that hand joked around about wand position only days ago. 

Gryffindor was in the most upheaval. Ron Weasley was evidently furious with Harry Potter, and almost equally annoyed that his girlfriend was taking Harry's side. Some of the others wanted to move on, claiming Harry was clearly protecting Malfoy, clearly a very Harry thing to do, but Harry wouldn't say that was what happened. Another faction held staunchly to the "Better Malfoy than Snape" line, others believed there must be some more mysterious reason behind it all that they hadn't been told, and some of the younger girls believed it was all a plot to discourage the desperate Ginny Weasley.

The Slytherins intermittently teased Potter but were cautious around Draco. Both sides watched the pair for signs of attraction, but there were none. Or none from Draco and nothing clear from Harry, although he did seem to watch Malfoy rather a lot. Harry himself seemed pre-occupied, though it was hard to tell about what. As expected, no one knew anything at all about what Draco thought or felt.

* * * 

After another round of mostly inept attempts at dueling in the traditional style – the boys in particular seemed to resent all the restrictions – Professor Lupin called their attention.

"As I said last week, this class will draw on the expertise of various staff members, so that you can refine some of the different skills which might be called upon during the Rite." Harry listened to the explanation, one more time, and looked forward anxiously, one more time, to the Order of the Phoenix meeting planned for tomorrow evening, when he was definitely going to get some questions answered. Why did they need caging and uncaging spells for a dueling game? What was behind the strenuous insistence on every minor rule encoded in the traditional dueling system? What was Snape doing here?

". . .as an expert in those skills," Lupin was saying, and Harry looked around irritably for some sign of what skills and why Snape was here. He'd kept to himself all weekend, dreading the revelation the _Prophet _would bring on Monday morning, and watching out at every moment for the immanent blackmail scene with Millicent. It didn't happen, possibly because he spent every minute he could shut up in the tower but also, apparently, because she wasn't letting him off that easily. 

She'd not even looked at him differently – though that stood out because everyone else did – or said a word. He and Draco had talked, discreetly but not quite secretly, for a few minutes each day and the conversation was mostly the same – has she said anything, is there any sign she's said anything to others, how are the Gryffindorks taking it, when is your father coming, exactly. "He's making me wait," Draco always said. 

He'd heard nothing from Sirius, who must know, and he'd heard nothing from Snape who certainly did know. He realised now that the real trick in the agreement that they would only use Snape's owl to communicate was that it meant he had no way to contact his supposed supplicant without breaking one of Snape's rules. He had to be discreet, he couldn't go to his rooms, and he couldn't write to him. He'd written and rewritten the letter explaining what happened with Draco and why, but Snape had to contact him first.

Whatever he actually thought about it, Snape seemed to respond by creating a visible zone of invisibility around Harry Potter. Even when he broke a beaker in Potions, Snape acted as if he wasn't there. He was tempted to do something even more dramatic, but was trying to avoid the impulsive immaturity he associated with 'before kissing Draco'. So he didn't intentionally seek a detention, but it was a near thing. He couldn't explain it, but he did feel ridiculously like he'd been unfaithful to Snape. Who was right there.

* * * 

Snape taught them repression, basically – how to conceal what you felt, physically or emotionally. Or that was the theory. In fact, they were pretty terrible at it – Gryffindors most of all, and Slytherins less than the others. Apparently it was key to traditional dueling, not responding. It might have been even worse for Harry, who Snape implied – ok, said – was constantly at the mercy of his emotions, if Ron hadn't been in the class. Snape seemed to take perverse delight in embarrassing Ron to show how easily he could be distracted, and Ron for some reason seemed to relish trying not to be distracted.

Draco didn't even pretend to take this class, and for once everyone saw a certain logic in his working as Lupin's assistant. Lupin, Snape and Malfoy closed the class with an almost light-hearted competition of affliction, casting minor but seriously irritating curses on one another and striving not to respond to the spells the others cast. Although he clearly lost, both Professors congratulated him and even the Gryffindors were impressed. 

As the class broke up Snape was drawn into a conversation with Hermione about whether protection spells were always Charms, and whether Charms were or could be, technically, offensive. Harry watched Snape reply, watched his focused interest and realised how much Snape probably would enjoy teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. He leant towards Hermione as she tried to reword her question, his long hands gesturing as he explained.

Feeling he had nothing to contribute, Harry went to speak with Draco. "You were very good," Harry said quietly. 

Draco smiled briefly, and lowered his head to say softly. "He'll be here on Saturday." 

The boys shared a long look. "Can I help?"

"No. He's my father; I'll deal with it." 

Harry clearly gave him a doubtful look. 

"Stay out of it Harry." 

Harry went to reply, but Draco cut him off with a hand on his arm – "And if you start following me around in that cloak I will be forced to kill you."

Harry smiled back. 

"If you're quite done, gentlemen?" 

Harry sprang back and away from Draco, and flushed at Professor Snape's evident amusement. "And that, Mr Potter, is exactly what I mean. You have no control over your responses. Anyone would think you were doing something illicit."

Harry caught his breath, fighting his irritation, confusion, and embarrassment. "I'll talk to you later Draco," he said with as much obvious affection as he could, and walked away without another glance at either of them.

Malfoy caught his Professor's eye, grinned, and ducked off towards his room. 

Snape watched him go as Remus Lupin approached from the other side of the room. "Interesting triangle, Severus," he said, collecting stray class materials with a sweep of his wand. 

"Quite. Lucius, Draco, and Harry Potter – I'm sure it'll have a happy ending," Snape replied sharply, moving away. "But perhaps you had your own triangle in mind." 

"Harry's always been a sensitive boy, as I recall," Lupin said after him.

"I can't think how you'd know, Lupin." Snape said as he walked out the door. 

* * *

The Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs were united in disliking Wizarding Society. It was as boring as History, the Gryffindors said, and by 7th year most of them had escaped Professor Binns, who was more ghastly than they remembered, in a totally ineffectual un-ghostly way. The Hufflepuffs found the whole thing distasteful. This week it was Part 2 of "inheritance and property", and one of the Hufflepuff girls had left in tears over something or other that left half a generation of witches utterly dependent on marriage contracts. The Slytherins seemed to already know half the answers and dismiss the rest as irrelevant. Ron was devising a thesis about the Rite as a plot to instill them all with Slytherin values, and Hermione was trying to ascertain from the constantly updated school charter whether they got marked for this subject or not. Harry was, as usual, watching Draco out of the corner of his eye and, somewhat resentfully, practicing the "displacement of self" charm Snape had been teaching them last night.

It shocked everyone then, distracted in their own ways, when Binns announced suddenly that they should ". . . complete that entry for yourselves now on the parchments in front of you." A sheet of paper materialised in front of Harry. It read: 

__

Name // 

Representative 1 // 

Representative 2 // 

Indicate any special circumstances, such as Muggle, overseas, deceased, etc. // 

Professor Binns floated amongst, or through, the tables. Mandy Brocklehurst made a disgusted noise when he whisped through her hand. "Of course some of you may not have all the required information," he said in his low elongated tone, looking in Harry's direction, "in which case you may take the parchment with you. When completed it will immediately go to Professor McGonagall." Harry self-consciously rolled up the paper, just as Binns said "And that will be all," and promptly drifted through a wall.

As they headed off to dinner, Hermione muttered about "special circumstances", Ron groaned about Binns and Slytherins, and Harry watched Draco carefully take his paper with him. He whispered to Hermione that he'd catch her up later. She nodded; Ron made a disgusted face in Malfoy's direction; and they kept walking. 

Harry would have followed Draco, but Professor McGonagall stepped into the room. "Mr Malfoy. Your father is here to see you."


	3. b The Plumed Serpent

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first, I think. Find it on ff.net or at www.skyehawke.com.

Rating: This chapter PG-13. Rating will go up.

Category: Drama/Romance 

Pairings: This chapter – elements of SS/DM, HP/DM, SS/HP.

Summary: In Harry's 7th year a wizarding tradition is being revived. It seems to have trapped Snape, Draco and Harry in a strange triangle, but that's only part of the problem. This was initially inspired by Diana Williams' "The Courtship of Harry Potter". 

Notes: The last two scenes of The Plumed Serpent. Not entirely pleased with them – feedback welcome.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Definitely – especially to tell me what works and what doesn't.

****

Pervinco II (b): The Plumed Serpent

Lucius Malfoy turned from the window to watch his son enter with Minerva McGonagall. 

"Lucius, good evening," she said.

"Minerva," Lucius said with a slight bow, "a pleasure."

"Your visits are an always an event," she responded evenly. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

"I knew Draco would be anxious to see me." Lucius turned towards the boy, blond heads inclining towards each other.

"Thank you, father. I hope you traveled well," Draco replied. 

"However," McGonagall said briskly, "Draco has duties with Professor Lupin tonight. As I said, we were expecting you tomorrow." She walked in her upright way to the door, saying, "I will return to collect him in half an hour."

"That is quite out of the question," Lucius said, and she stopped, stiffly, by the door. "I have come some way to spend time with my son. He can dine with me, and I will summon one of the house-elves when our meeting is complete."

"It will be impossible. . ."

"I can, of course, take Draco somewhere else for dinner if Hogwarts hospitality cannot extend to a meal. . ." He clearly took the witch's tightening expression as agreement. "A table here will be perfectly sufficient."

Giving an annoyed nod, McGonagall left the room. Lucius turned his attention to Draco. 

* * *

Harry hesitated outside Dumbledore's office, looking at the gargoyle – part man, part snake, part bird, and maybe something else.

"It won't grant you any wishes, Potter." Wonderful, Harry thought.

"No, apparently not." Snape paused next to the boy, still a few inches taller. Harry could feel him looking.

"Were you hiding from me or from Black?" Snape eventually asked.

Harry replied "Cherry Ripe" and, without looking at the other man, passed in through the door.

Remus Lupin reclined in his chair near Fawkes's perch, and smiled at Snape and Harry.

Minerva McGonagall sat stiffly in her chair near Dumbledore's desk, and directed a more than usually concerned expression absently towards them.

Arthur Weasley shuffled back through the folder of papers on his lap, looking for something, and didn't notice the latest arrivals.

Albus Dumbledore smiled a welcome as they came in, "Good evening, Harry, Severus."

Sirius Black growled from his carved wooden chair and thrust himself to his feet. "Snape."

"Now, Sirius," Dumbledore cautioned. "We agreed."

"We'll talk later," Sirius muttered, not looking away until Snape responded with a curt nod.

"Wonderful," Albus responded cheerfully – everyone else in the room reflected on his sanity – "Now, who would like tea?"

* * *

When the final dishes were cleared away by the elves, Lucius dismissed them and took a seat by the fire, gesturing for Draco to join him. "Now," he said to his son, "Harry Potter."

"Has accepted. . ."

"I didn't ask a question." Lucius paused coolly to emphasise his point. "I have been giving thought to how your undeniably foolish public exposure might be of benefit." He crossed one elegant knee over the other.

"I had considered. . ."

"Draco," Lucius said, even more casually leaning an elbow on the chair's arm, "I strongly recommend that you do not interrupt." He waited another long moment to ensure compliance. "You will of course have to marry and have children, but any. . . undesired contact can easily be avoided." Draco continued to look at his father without apparent emotion. "There may also be advantages in our negotiation with certain influential men."

Draco blinked.

"Are you and Potter lovers?"

"Oh no."

"Why then would he accept so quickly?'

"He. . ." Draco clearly considered for a moment, "I believe he wants us to be."

Lucius put a finger to the side of Draco's face, tipping it towards him. "Of course. You will, however, be sure that does not happen until we believe it useful." Draco nodded his agreement.

"And you will keep any," Lucius gestured vaguely between them, "activities. . . to a discreet minimum. Any man with power desires exclusive things. In fact, it will be best to abstain. We will find the most effective moment for overcoming your newfound celibacy," he paused. "I presume it would be newfound?"

"Yes, father." 

"Sangermano," Lucius said. "I wondered if he was rather too good looking to teach Latin."

Clearly unsure whether a response was required, Draco waited, then looked up curiously. His father was observing him, as if from a distance. "But Remus Lupin, Draco? He's barely human."

"I received a declaration from him, father. I didn't offer one." 

"Yes, I've seen the text." Draco didn't register any surprise at that. "Apprenticeship," Lucius said with irritation, "as if a Malfoy takes on a mere skill. You will refuse him immediately – it is merely clumsy of Dumbledore to consider that an offer."

"Father. . . If I may. . ?" Lucius indicated his willingness to hear. "My role at Hogwarts is now, in general, everything you wished me to achieve when I came here. I would think the position worth maintaining." He lowered his eyes. "With respect."

"I don't see any necessity to prolong association between our house and Lupin. But the other progress is, I suppose, satisfactory. Also counter to my instructions but – Narcissa tells me I don't give you enough credit; that I treat you like a child."

Draco visibly relaxed into the couch as his father turned his attention to the fire. "Father. . . I have been asked to name my representatives for the Rite negotiations. I thought it would be wise to include a confidante of Dumbledore's. . . while he believes he is protecting me."

Lucius examined his son. "But of course he is not." It was not a question. 

"Lupin is ineligible, as a supplicant," Lucius continued. "I presume you mean Severus." Draco nodded. "Very well, everything shall be copied to him. Narcissa will not mind being relieved of the paperwork." 

Without another word Lucius rose and gathered his cloak about him, waiting while his son rose and pausing, clearly allowing another space for Draco's nervous hesitancy. 

"I shall give your regards to your mother. " Draco bowed slightly. "Now," Lucius said, drawing his wand, "I had best summon an elf for access out of this menagerie." 

"Thank you for your indulgence, father," Draco replied with barely evident relief.

Lucius bent to loosely embrace his son, who pressed his forehead to his father's shoulder. 

"I forgive you, Draco. This time." Draco whispered his thanks. "But you will remember to give the most careful attention to my instructions from now on."

"I will." 

"I know." Lucius raised his son's face to look closely into his mirroring grey eyes and raised one hand. "Crucio."

* * *

As Mr Weasley and Mrs Figg finally entered the floo, Harry turned angrily to his Potions professor. "You didn't have to do that."

"What, Potter?" Harry waited him out. "You want Black to believe I'm trying to seduce you?"

"No!" Snape gave him a dubious look, "But – I mean – you didn't have to say that I was desperate for attention."

"And hormonally out of control. . ." Snape reminded him, without smiling, though to Harry that seemed to be the intention. 

"And that. You could just have said you weren't interested."

"Which wouldn't have explained why I wasn't to the nice homicidal brute, would it?"

"You implied that. . . I'm just a child."

"Really? I thought I stated it rather directly." Harry glared at him. "By all means let me refine it – you're a child trying desperately not to act like a child."

"Would it be possible to belittle me any more in that sentence?"

"I'm sure I could work on it."

"What is wrong with you? On the roof, when we saw Draco, you were. . . even civil to me."

"Clearly an error."

"What? Why?"

"You seem to have entirely forgotten that I am your professor."

As if that was likely. But being dragged into this. . . name-calling with Snape was never going to help. Harry took a deep breath, and returned to his seat. "It was, it is, a good plan. Obviously I can still accept you as well but. . . there were other reasons for accepting Draco."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I believe I can perfectly comprehend your motivations."

Argh. Harry was going to have to rewrite. . . "I wrote you a letter, explaining it. But I'm not allowed to come and see you, or write to you, so. . ."

"We talk to each other almost every day, Mr Potter. You gave me homework just today." Yeah, that was stupid. Harry would have apologised, said he'd been preoccupied, but that would lead to what he was preoccupied by and. . . 

"If that's quite all. . ." Snape sneered.

"No," Harry said, suddenly angry again. "How can you just stand by and let the whole year be put what we know is a trap, just hoping that we'll find out what kind of trap in time?"

"You know perfectly well it's not my plan," Snape said tiredly, taking his own seat again. "The Headmaster always has more faith in the capacities of students than I." 

"Is Draco safe? I mean, has he put too much faith in. . .?"

"I can't be sure. We're all working on it. And the Headmaster may be correct about the general value of reintroducing the apprenticeship system outside of the Rite," he looked rather sombrely around the room and idly ran his hand along the edge of Dumbledore's desk. "It can only help to give the more talented or ambitious students obvious avenues to power that don't involve becoming a Death-Eater. Refolding his hands, Snape turned back to Harry. "If Draco were to join us, eventually, he would be a great asset. But Harry you must be very careful with Draco. . . he's a very complicated boy."

"While I'm utterly transparent," Harry added ruefully. Snape gave him a pleased look. "And you called me Harry!" 

"Mr Potter. . ."

"I won't hold it against you," Harry laughed. "But, really, you don't have to be so mean to Sirius about me."

"What?" Snape snapped. "He instructed you to reject me immediately. In front of me, what's more; and I am going to have to bear this. . . attitude while he acts as your representative." 

"He's not," Harry said. "He refused to do it unless I ruled out you and Draco immediately." 

"For a not inconsiderable wizard Black is such an infant." Harry had to smile at that, and Snape replied with that small smile that he'd seen once before. It made Harry feel warm and jumpy. "So he would leave you with Zabini, hmm? He really doesn't know you at all, does he?" 

Harry grinned. "I suspect he secretly hopes I'll take Ginny Weasley. Or even the Russian girl."

Snape tapped his hand a few times on the arm of the chair, as if considering, and then got to his feet. "Goodnight then, Mr Potter." 

Harry reached him just on the other side of the door, in the dark corridor. "About the letter, Professor."

"Very well. I'll send Thetis to you tomorrow. She'll be returning soon, but deserves a rest."

Harry only momentarily considered asking whom Snape was writing to, far away. "Professor?" Snape was turning to leave, but paused. "I'm sorry. I mean, that it couldn't be Draco."

Snape quickly pushed Harry to one side of the corridor by his arm, and put two long smooth fingers across the boy's mouth as he looked around. After a moment he leant to whisper roughly in Harry's ear. "Don't discuss such things in an open corridor. In fact, not anywhere not secured by yourself, or someone you trust." Harry nodded, shivering slightly at the sensation of someone's hand on his mouth, someone's breath on his face and neck. 

Snape pulled back slowly, and Harry met his dark eyes as they drew away. They were, in fact they were, in their own way. . . not silver-grey, not any unearthly beauty, but. . . intense. 

Snape moved first the hand on his arm and then, slowly, the fingers from his mouth. "Don't presume to know what I want," he said quietly. "I'll be sure to let you know, if it concerns you." He touched those fingers to the soft angle of Harry's jaw. "Good night, Mr Potter."

Tiredly, and with a kind of ache, Harry watched him disappear along the dark hall. He pulled his glasses from his face and rubbed at his eyes, too tired suddenly to be irritated or even confused. From the stairway he thought he heard a slight noise, but everything was dim and blurred. By the time he got to the stairs, glasses in place, there was definitely no one there.


	4. a Persuasion

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first, I think. Find it through the author link. 

Rating: This chapter moves up to R by the end.

Pairings: This chapter – elements of SS/DM, HP/DM, SS/HP, RW/HG.

Notes: I lost the draft of this series this week, along with the rest of my hard drive. I'm going to try and keep going with it, but updates will be shorter and lest frequent. Thanks for the review, whomever, I had just about decided people on this site weren't terribly interested – or perhaps it's just a very closed community. Not sure. . . anyway, here's Pt 2, Ch 3.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Definitely – especially to tell me what works and what doesn't.

****

Pervinco III: Persuasion

Harry waited for Thetis to finish eyeing the owl treat suspiciously and turned his back so she could eat without having to acknowledge him. He offered her the letter – although at the last minute he nearly took it back to use a spell checking charm on it. He watched her fly away, loop around out over the inner lawn and up over the parapet. He breathed in the beautiful cool day and wondered if Ron was still watching him.

"So, that is Snape's owl, right?"

Harry turned back to see Ron, sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling on his boots. Finishing, he leant his elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them, and looked up at Harry. 

"Yes, Snape's owl." Harry replied. "Her name is. . ."

"So you send a lot of 'love letters' to each other?" Ron interrupted, as if the last thing he wanted to hear was that Harry knew the name of Snape's owl. 

"No – I mean. . ." Ron waited. "No, we. . ."

"Forget it. I really don't want to know." The redhead got up to retrieve his outer robe from the bedside chest. 

"Then why did you ask?" Harry asked in an exasperated tone. 

Ron finished dressing, as if thinking about it. "I keep forgetting that I'll never understand." At that moment Hermione came in, hugging Harry briefly with one arm before rushing over to Ron.

"Hogsmeade passes! It's a wonderful day, finally; though it'll be muddy I guess." She screwed up her face and then smiled again. "No matter. Can we do the bookstores first before you get all grumpy from overeating?"

"Ah, Mione, I forgot. I can't go this morning." At the surprised annoyance on her face, he added in a hurry "I did mean to tell you, and then – I forgot."

Harry was wondering why he hadn't even remembered there were passes today, and how he'd got to the point of not even noticing the usual buildup of excitement. 

"It's just," Ron lowered his voice, "that 'thing' I'm supposed to do – on Fridays. . ."

Hermione seemed to, though Harry couldn't say he'd noticed there was a Friday thing Ron did. 

"You didn't go last night," Hermione added, "Ron please don't say you have to go today." Her boyfriend gave an apologetic smile. "Fine," Hermione huffed, getting to her feet.

"Mione don't," Ron pleaded. "I really need to do this."

"Of course I don't care about Hogsmeade." Hermione said stiffly. "I care that you can't trust me with whatever this is."

"If it wasn't important. . ." he began, but Hermione was already leaving. 

"Are you coming, Harry?" she asked, a little too brightly. 

"Sure. Ok," Harry said. It's not like he had plans, apart from distracted mooning around over Draco and Snape and Snape and Draco and kissing guys and Sirius's face last night and Death-Eater plots – butterbeer and a sunny walk sounded fine. 

Ron gave them a dark sort of look as they walked out and tossed himself back on the bed in a frustrated pile.

* * *

LAVENDER:

"Oh, you've got to hear this.

Are you ready? Oh, you should sit down. Ok.

Colin Creevey says Draco Malfoy is sick. No, of course that's not all. One of the Slytherins, I mean the other Slytherins, you know, the ones who hate him now, apparently poisoned him. Can you believe it? Part of some huge plot to frame his father.

Of course Lucius Malfoy, who else? That's who Draco ate dinner with last night, when Dean said he was, you know, with Professor Lupin, which is so stupid. As if Dean Thomas ever knows anything. Anyway, it's all because of some Death-Eater feud from the last time you-know-who was in power. No one knows what. And they nearly killed Malfoy, apparently he was at death's door all night, which is, remember, exactly what Sybill said in that Divination class. Do you remember, you told me – 'you will lie at death's door all night' – and now it's come true!

And it's absolutely certain about the poison part because he had to go to Snape for a pejorative, or whatever they are. Merlin, I hate Potions. And, you know, tonight is the full moon, and I bet they intended for Draco to have to watch over poor Professor Lupin. I know the staff says he has a new potion, but I think he still changes, at least when the moon is really full like tonight. Or maybe it's that the wolf is trapped inside him all the time; he's eternally haunted by his own dark monstrous side; always so calm but with something animal about him. Imagine, he'll be prowling in his rooms, with a wounded Draco lying next door. 

It's bound to end terribly. Don't you think so, Millicent?" 

* * *

Ron lay with a cushion over his head listening to the beginnings of a ritual. Neville read aloud from the third issue of the _Daily Prophet Supplement_ on the Rite of Engagement. They had started last week – Padma said Neville had a lovely reading voice, and though the others had often already read it, or at least skimmed it, they all wanted to know how everyone else reacted. 

__

. . . . When the witch Elizabeth Tudor reigned as Queen in the Muggle world, she required that gifts take the form of poetry, music, painting, drama, achievements in battle, on the sporting field, or in magic . . . .

"I like her; who's she?"

"Honestly Dean, do you never read?"

The ritual counted off the weeks in which everyone waited, between the declarations and the immanent Equinox. Hermione, like almost everyone else, hadn't finalised her declarations. 

She would be flattered by Snape's offer; Ron understood that, and it would be hard to refuse him. And she was friends with Justin and probably didn't want to hurt his feelings. Ron couldn't remember if Justin had declared interest in anyone else. Hell, he couldn't even remember if it was Padma Neville was interested in, or Parvati. But Hermione also hadn't accepted anyone, including Ron. What did that mean? He couldn't bring himself to ask. 

__

. . . . At the beginning of the eighteenth century, gifts usually took one of three forms. Memento _represented the supplicant. _Deliciae _represented what the supplicant could offer_. Avatar_ represented the object. . . ._

"What object?"

"Us, silly. They're the supplicants and we're the objects."

"That's disgusting."

Would they do this all the way to summer, or just these early autumn weeks when everyone itched to know what would happen next? Could anyone keep Lavender from insisting she read next week's supplement on the different coloured ritual robes – probably more than once? Were Harry and he still friends? 

Harry was the only one who didn't come on Monday nights to talk about the _Supplement_. He lay in his room, probably moping at the ceiling, or maybe fantasising about Malfoy, which was just disgusting. Definitely Malfoy; not Snape. Weeks of private tutoring with Snape hadn't made Ron like the man any more, but being a nasty ugly man didn't make you the type to lust after students. He was really kind of staunchly supportive, in a cruel, twisted, slave-driving way.

__

. . . . In the early nineteenth century, when the Rite was only widely practiced on the Continent, new forms of magic or other knowledge were highly prized gifts, but gifts of money and especially jewellery were far more common. . . . 

"Oh, how do you think we get jewellery?"

"Lavender, I think the whole idea is for them to prove they know what you want."

"Well you must be able to hint. . ."

* * *

**__**

Lucius Naevius Anguis Malfoy &

Narcissa Christobel Edmonton Malfoy

Malfoy Manor, Surrey

Dear Miss Hermione Granger

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy cordially invite you to attend a celebration of the Autumn Equinox on behalf of their son, Draco Lucius Corvus Malfoy.

The celebration will be held at Malfoy Manor, on Sunday the twentieth of September, commencing at eight o'clock.

We sincerely hope you can attend. 

RSVP: 13 September.

Formal dress.

Special floo arrangements will be made available. 

Hermione folded the invitation back into its textured envelope. Ron looked at her expectantly. 

"I know, it's bizarre," she said. "But maybe Harry would want us to go?"

"No, you can't be serious. Look what happened the last time we went to a Malfoy party."

"I thought it was actually pretty nice. Well," Hermione added, watching Ron's colour rise, "you'd have to admit the food was excellent." Ron gaped at her. "I'm sure we'd be perfectly safe; absolutely everybody has an invitation."

"You sound like Lavender."

"Ron! There's no need to be rude."

"This is Lucius Malfoy," he dragged the name out for emphasis, "not even his possibly just a bitter psychopath rather than intensely evil son." Hermione gave him her mildly irritated look.

"I don't believe any of this," Ron said, stalking away. 

* * *

SEVERUS:

Flitwick throws his hands in the air again, and makes that small noise in his throat one more time. I suspect it means he wishes he could hex Dumbledore into another dimension, and I can entirely sympathise. However, pragmatically, he may as well give up – Albus has decided to agree to this request on both strategic and indulgent grounds – it's a lost cause.

"Charms are not party tricks, Headmaster. With. . ." he clearly struggles to say it, "all respect – you didn't convert the Defense classes into grooming sessions for the Rite, you added another class. Can we do that? I know Fleur Delacour is looking for teaching work, she would be entirely capable of such. . . of these. . . glamours!" Really, he spits the last word out so derisively that I'm actually impressed, and Flitwick is generally such an unobjectionable fellow it's positively objectionable. I await Albus's response with some interest.

"My dear Filius, please. Won't you sit down?" Albus gestures him towards the accursed chair in which one is offered tea. "Let me get you some tea."

Flitwick is out of the chair like lightning, and I actually have to make an effort not to snicker at his bad temper and Dumbledore's expression. Distress, tempered with amazement that one of his charges cannot see the light he sees; it's his alternative to 'I know you better than you know yourself, dear boy.' I think the amazement is less insufferable, but only just.

"Snape!" Flitwick turns and appeals to me and I wonder that after all these years he knows me so little. I have no interest in this. Albus wishes to genially cede to the Patil twins' typically shallow request for a program of Charms which can be used to enhance one's appeal in the context of the Rite's season of social events, and it will not effect me if he does. The school is already prostituted to this carnival in any case. Fortunately, Potions could hardly be. . . 

"Headmaster. You must concede that a Master of his magical art must be allowed to teach it as he sees fit, without the vagaries of fashion." Flitwick gives me a surprised and grateful look, which only confirms his naiveté. He's the only wizard in this room who is not a Master.

"I entirely understand, Severus. I am only asking Filius to allow one session a week to be directed at these. . . social charms." Flitwick's expressive face flushes with anger but finally registers defeat. He gives me a small nod of thanks – perhaps I should have been more supportive, there are principles at stake. I glance at Albus, who is waiting on my response. 

I have battles of my own, and tonight will be a sleepless one, as Lupin needs another batch of Wolsfbane Fidelis. I could teach Draco to make it, but I'm loath to give up that knowledge to him, or fortify the tentative alliance between them. I'm also interested in the new potion's effects. Lupin seems almost surreally calm lately.

"How can I help you Severus?" Albus finally asks. 

* * *

Harry knocked on the door. 

"I don't think he's in," Hermione whispered, pulling on his sleeve. The door opened. 

"Harry," Draco said with a smile. "Hermione." She raised an eyebrow at his use of her given name. "Sorry, am I presuming too much, Miss Granger?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I think I can bear the shock. A little more pleasant than 'Mudblood'."

"Well, I was young and stupid. I'm sure we're all past that."

"I'm sure."

The irony was a bit heavy for Harry. "Can we come in, Draco? I've never seen the solo suite."

Draco hesitated. "It's rather a mess."

Draco's room was actually rather bare, although there were a lot of books and papers in no apparent order lying around the room, singly or in piles. Harry noticed the sphere he'd been sent by Lucius Malfoy sitting in the centre of the mantle. 

"Don't the house elves come in?" Hermione asked. 

"I prefer that they don't. You know they're not very careful with magical things," Draco added.

Harry laughed and Hermione looked puzzled. "They're not?" she said, curiously. "I've never. . ."

"Hah, you've got the whole set," Harry laughed, moving over to a stack of folded robes on the dresser. "Of course you do. Not yet wearing the blue ones, though. Can't make up your mind?"

"I can't see why anyone wouldn't delay that as long as possible. I suppose they may look all right on the right kind of witch but. . . ugh. You think they could have commissioned Madame Malkin to design something a little less tacky." He pulled out the offending fabric and Hermione came and ran her hand over it with interest. 

"Lots of the girls really like these," she said. 

"I will look like a doll," Draco said, "and they'll clash with Harry's eyes." Hermione laughed and Harry pulled a face. "Now these, at least," he flicked his fingers down the centre fastenings of the green robe, "are an improvement on school robes. But we have to wear those for months." He tossed the dark blue robe back on the pile, where it neatly folded itself to match the others. 

"Well you don't have to," Harry said.

Removing books from a chair near the desk Draco offered it to Hermione. "Of course I do."

"Thanks," Hermione said, "but I really do need to meet Ron." Harry rolled his eyes and Hermione began to frown but settled on a sigh. "He's kind of possessive right now." 

"You trying to avoid the blue robes too?" Draco teased.

"No, I. . ." Harry struggled not to laugh. "We really should go now," she continued, grabbing Harry's sleeve, "but we came to say we'll come to your party, won't we Harry?"

"Oh, do we have to bring a gift?" Harry said as he was dragged to the door. 

"Actually it's my birthday as well," Draco said coming to the door to see them out. "There are no presents for the Equinox but – if there's something you'd like to give me personally," he gave a blatantly sexy lopsided grin, and Hermione turned away, "I've always loved gifts."

Harry wanted to ask about the non-birthday part of the party, but Hermione already had him at the stairwell. Draco crossed the hall towards Remus's rooms, giving them a final wave.

"He's an outrageous flirt," Hermione said when they were part way up the stairs. Harry grinned. "Not that you seem to mind at all," she added, and they went on to Gryffindor happily.

* * *

When they needed to, Harry and Draco met in the archives, between the last class and dinner. It was not a secret, but the room had acquired a lock and key at some point since their first dimly lit conversation there and they did use a varying range of silencing spells. In fact Harry rather found himself researching that branch of charms to find some Draco wouldn't already know. Today Draco was already waiting when Harry arrived.

"You summoned?" he said with a smile, drawing this morning's note from his pocket.

Draco was leaning on the table, picking at his robe, and looked anything but happy to see a friend. If that's what they were. "Is it Millicent?"

Draco shook his head. "I had a letter from Mother – about that ridiculous party." He diligently pulled invisible threads away from the cloth. 

"Well it's your birthday, isn't it? Is it? What's wrong with it?"

"It's my being put on display party. All the supplicants," he said it bitterly, "are invited. And the Ministry, and the School, and a bunch of other people. I thought I avoided it. . ."

"With your own party."

Draco nodded. "If Snape had declared for me it would have worked; it would have been ok."

Harry wanted to ask what Draco knew about that, and about Snape and himself, but even if he asked, would he ever trust the answers? He settled for "Why?" 

"He's strong enough. And he would have been. . . could have been committed enough to. . . Dumbledore can't really help me, because he doesn't really care."  
  
"I'm sure that's not true."

"Are you?" Harry wasn't. Dumbledore didn't trust Draco; but then, who did?

"And the letter?"

"I have to take Eustacia Parkinson. I mean, as my date."

Harry vaguely remembered her, Pansy's older sister, as one of Draco's supplicants.

"It's only a party."

"I was going to ask you."

"Oh." Then Draco slipped an arm across Harry's back and kissed him. The touch was soft, but quickly became harder, the kiss twisting across his mouth, an arm wrapping around his waist and another around his shoulder. They were side by side on the table and Draco pushed towards Harry, tipping him backwards across the table. 

"Hang on," Harry pushed Draco back a little with a palm to his chest. He thought about saying it – kiss me, touch me, or even fuck me. His entire body throbbed at the thought. Beside and above him, the ceiling light behind Draco turned his hair into a golden and white aura. "Draco?"

"Do you want to, Harry?" the other boy whispered, leaning back down to press his body up against Harry's and his mouth to his jaw. 

"Do I want to what?" Harry said a little desperately. "The party?" Draco stopped and pulled back. "I mean I know what else you might mean, but. . ."

Draco got to his feet, running a hand back through his lightly curling hair. "Merlin."

"Draco?" Harry pulled himself to his feet, feeling heavy and slow. 

"I can't win." He moved to the door and pulled it open a little harder than was necessary. 

"So I was just supposed to. . ." Draco turned back in the doorway, the bustle of the library behind him. "Do you always do what your father tells you?" Harry asked instead.

In a hard voice Draco said "I have no choice." And left. 


	5. b Persuasion

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first, I think. Find it through the author link. 

Rating: This chapter PG-13. Rating will go up later in this chapter.

Pairings: This chapter – elements of SS/DM, HP/DM, SS/HP, RW/HG.

Notes: This is most of what remains of "Persuasion" – there's one more long scene, and I found it hard to draft so I'm not sure how long it will take now. I keep being asked which pairing is the real pairing of this story, so I wanted to say that while individual chapters or parts have emphases, the story is not about only one possible pairing, despite who ends up with whom (and it would wreck the plot to reveal that now). I don't really think it's cheating and I'm sorry that some people find it frustrating or disappointing. 

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Definitely – especially to tell me what works and what doesn't.

****

Pervinco III (b): Persuasion

The final Wizarding Society class before the Equinox was not taken by Professor Binns, much to the class's delight, but by McGonagall, who was at least alive. 

With less than a week till the Equinox, she briskly explained, it was imperative they all understood the forthcoming stage of the Rite. She expected clear and concise notes, indicating full comprehension of the material, by Monday morning. A girl's voice squeaked something about "the party." 

McGonagall frowned. "While permission has been given for many of you to attend the Malfoy party, it is only one evening. I also hope I don't have to remind you that you will be representatives of Hogwarts all the time." There was a muffled collection of groans.

For once people pretended to take notes although, honestly, they all knew the _Handbook_ by now. If a supplicant had not been formally rejected by sunset on the Equinox then they could not be excluded until the Winter Solstice. They were also entitled to send gifts and request a meeting. Someone dropped something at the back of the class. 

"You may set limits on this," McGonagall began again, "through your representatives. Harry I don't seem to have names for you yet, I need them tonight. Your representatives may also act as chaperones and witnesses, and may offer advice, but they cannot make decisions on your behalf. All Rite spells involving your consent must be performed by you." Next to Harry, Neville audibly groaned. "You may consult me about the correct forms at any time."

The Professor suddenly seemed a little embarrassed. "The Gifts stage is supposed to be one of the most enjoyable. A supplicant may," she took a breath, "attempt to be convincing," she fussed a little with her papers, "but it is also their chance to ascertain what you want to be offered." 

Lavender Brown squealed joyfully and McGonagall scolded her with evident satisfaction for the remaining minutes of the lesson.

* * *

When Hermione slipped off with Padma to see the witches' dressing room, which she couldn't believe was actually lined in mother of pearl, Harry stayed near the window. The room was crowded with people he didn't know and, outside of Hogwarts, Harry had spent very little time amongst large numbers of people. 

Looking along the wall he saw Millicent Bulstrode – or, as he liked to think of her, evil-in-waiting – speaking to someone concealed by the drapes. She looked interested, pleased, or some unusually satisfied expression for Millicent. At that moment Pansy Parkinson came up behind her with an ingratiating smile and a smooth sweep of her blue robe. Millicent didn't look all that pleased to see her and, as Pansy evidently began to compare their apparently identical robes, Lucius Malfoy moved out from the wall and across the room. Harry watched him go.

"You don't look like you're enjoying yourself Mr Potter."

"Professor Snape. Hello." Harry tried to find Draco's father in the crowd again.

"Your social skills are quite appalling, Potter." 

"Oh," he was tempted to say Snape could hardly criticise anyone for rudeness, but then Snape was only rude to students, and people he disliked, or people who disliked him, and whenever he could – "You can hardly criticise anyone for rudeness." He didn't see Snape's response as he watched Malfoy's silver head move through the crowd, but he jumped at a touch on his shoulder that turned him to look out across the torch-lit lawns down to the canal. 

"Mr Potter," Snape said gesturing out at the dark gardens as if showing him something, "you don't stare viciously at a host in this company, and never when the host is Lucius Malfoy." 

"I'm being watched," Harry whispered, watching their separate vague shadows in the glass. "At least once it was Millicent, who Malfoy was just talking to. Other times, too, maybe. And I'm sure Draco can't be trusted. I. . . I shouldn't have come."

Snape pointed down to a lit series of ponds stretching off to the right, and Harry's eyes followed the direction of his hand turning his ear towards Snape, who said softly, but still from a respectable distance, "Don't show them how you feel. And you should have told me."

He stepped away and cordially greeted a woman Harry didn't know. Feeling unanchored, Harry looked around. He saw Narcissa Malfoy lift her head to meet her husband's gaze. Lucius nodded and a bell-like voice rang out to mark the arrival of the aperitif and the opening of the ballroom. 

* * *

The music was subtly pitched, not really for dancing. Cho Chang and Justin Finch-Fletchley were making a fair attempt at a waltz in one corner with the Staines' and Renquists; but people's eyes were on Draco turning Eustacia Parkinson through the room. Clusters of people happily parted to let them by. Eustacia tipped her head back laughing, and ran her hand up the plane of Draco's back. Severus Snape watched Harry Potter watch them.

"Severus, can you believe Draco said not one of his peers would know how to dance a Minuet?" Narcissa turned towards him, her semi-train folding around her feet as if it was a thing that required no practice. "We so loved those old dances when I was a girl. Just another element of wizarding culture sadly lost." 

"I believe, Narcissa, that the Minuet was a Muggle dance. Late eighteenth-century, I think, probably French by the name, or English during a very Francophile period."

"You're so amusing, Severus, I'm sure that's not right. The Minuet is very graceful and orderly. I have seen Muggles dancing you know." Severus didn't contradict her. "What are you teaching at that school anyway?"

"Magic, Narcissa, as we always have – and could you not play the vapid social butterfly with me, it's always been irritating, although I'm sure you're in need of the practice."

"Severus I have missed you, you're never out any more." 

"I find the company disappointing."

"And you're always so rude. Here comes Lucius to tease you about the boy, I'm sure. Do excuse me while I terrify some of my son's suitors." They parted with a smile; Snape even bowed to her and she laughed appreciatively. One of the Hogwarts boys made a choking noise nearby.

"I think you're going to fatally shock your students if you don't stop acting like you ever had social skills, Severus." 

"Lucius," Snape said without turning. Slightly at one angle, aided by the long mirrors, they watched Harry watch Draco dance and laugh when his friends clearly teased him for staring.

"Is he quite as innocent as he looks, do you think? Even after all these years of playing with the dark. Or is he the great wizard of his generation as Dumbledore thinks? You never say much about Potter, Severus." A waiter passed and both men took a glass. "Except when required." 

"Is this an appropriate conversation for your son's party, Lucius?"

"Perhaps not. But you are competing with my son for Potter's hand."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"How is that progressing, by the way?" They watched Harry blush when Hermione startled him out of staring at Draco again. "Then again, it's not really much of a competition, is it?"

"I'd be surprised to find you believe a boy's beauty is the only thing that might be desirable to someone with Harry Potter's experiences."

"To inexperienced 16 year old Potter it's clearly almost mesmerising."

"I wonder what your purpose is in this."

"At that age, can you still remember Severus, every new experience is so intense, so likely to change you." Lucius moved closer. "Do you think he's kissed the boy yet? Do you think. . ."

"Are things so dull in the world of wizarding conspiracy, Lucius?" Across the room Narcissa coughed quietly in a muted jangle of bracelets, but they both noticed. Lucius smiled as he walked off toward his wife's subtle hail.

* * *

Harry was seated next to Hermione at supper, which was a relief. She joked with Dean across the table about which fork to use, and which glass for water, and when they got it wrong they teased one another happily despite the disapproval of other guests. Harry probably didn't care which fork he should use either, but he didn't feel like eating. He caught Draco's eye once across the table and the something with salmon in it suddenly didn't seem so delicious. 

Severus watched the boys at different ends of the table try to unobtrusively watch one another. Draco was, of course, far better at it than Potter, but Harry clearly wasn't entirely intractable. He flicked green eyes towards Draco's end of the table one more time, but it wasn't blatantly obvious, and the candlelight reflecting off his glasses made it even less easy to see. He could ask what had happened with Draco and the boy would probably tell him, but he had a strange feeling that, unless it was necessary, he didn't really want to know. 

Harry didn't feel like food, but he tried the wines – first the lemony white one, then the deep ruby red one. He heard Draco laugh, and the girl next to him laughed too. Hermione squeezed his leg under the table – she knew he and Draco had argued, or something, but hadn't pushed him to explain. She had enough problems with Ron, who'd refused to come tonight and rarely spoke to Harry now. In fact, he rarely spoke to Hermione most of the time, although he clearly still considered them a couple. Harry knew it was probably entirely his fault. He tried the goldeny sort of wine, which was sweet and thicker. He liked it. 

Harry dimly heard Lucius Malfoy begin a speech about the Equinox, and whispered the phrase "our lives are ordered by the stars" a few times to himself until Hermione hushed him. 

* * *

People had begun to leave in small groups. Heading out with Seamus and Dean, Harry didn't really want to go. They might have insisted if he hadn't run into Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint. They accosted a waiter, got him another drink, and promised the boys to see him through the floo within the hour. 

On the very edge of the drawing room, they watched senior political figures in the wizarding world attempting to be polite to one another. Marcus and Oliver knew many of them – Oliver gossiped and Marcus derided; Harry listened and laughed. 

Oliver dug him in the ribs when Snape came in. "Look Harry." 

"So you're a Snape fan, too?"

"Well. . ."

"He really is something else," Marcus continued, and they watched him cross the room, exchanging occasional words with other guests, to lean on a chair beside Narcissa Malfoy. "Powerful, sophisticated, dark and elegant…" he broke off with a laugh which Harry realised was directed at him. "And here I thought you'd been drooling over our boy Draco all night."

"Marcus," Oliver said kindly, "we can understand that."

"Oh certainly." Marcus put an arm round Harry and whispered, "pale, fine and smooth all over. What did you say he tasted like, Oliver – wasn't it lemon and honey?" Oliver was clearly embarrassed and annoyed, but Marcus was enjoying himself. "And yet here you are, lusting after the utterly unattainable Severus Snape." 

"I don't know about unattainable," Harry said, knowing he probably shouldn't, but at least it stopped Marcus. "He _is_ my supplicant."

"You're kidding," Oliver said, "you actually bagged Snape?"

"On the last day of declarations. I thought you knew."

"Potter," Marcus said in a low shocked tone. "I'm truly impressed. What's he like?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I always wondered, really wondered, lights out wondered, you know what I mean."

It occurred to Harry what Marcus meant, what they thought he meant. He would correct it of course but, just for a minute, they were so impressed, it was. . . 

"Does Draco know?" Marcus asked with a sharp laugh, "He's been in love with him for years, not that he'd ever admit it."

Suddenly almost afraid Harry said in a rush "Look, you can't. . ."

"Of course," Oliver said reassuringly, a hand on his lover's robe. "Marcus, it's Professor Snape." 

"Surely the Rite would overrule all the teacher-student stuff?"

Harry had no idea, except that this conversation was definitely out of his control. He was probably drunk; he felt dizzy.

Suddenly Snape was there, a hand under his elbow. "What was all that about?"

"Ah," he tried to see where the other men had gone; "they misunderstood." Snape helped him to the wall. Some distance away he saw Marcus talking to Lucius, and felt nauseous. 

Snape moved between him and the rest of the room. "Is it Flint?"

"They," he began sickly, "they sort of think we're lovers."

Snape laughed, not long but loud, and everyone turned to look. Smiling broadly as the murmur of amazement arose he said in a low voice, "I think it's time for us to leave." 

.

Farewelling guests near a huge but tastefully understated hearth serving as the floo for guests, Draco gave them a curious look as they moved up the line of people thanking he and his mother for their hospitality.

"Thanks for inviting me," Harry said, somewhat nervously. 

Draco smiled his careful public smile and said "Thank you for coming." Taking Harry's hand, as he had everyone else's, and leaning a little closer, he added more quietly, "and for the gift." Harry hesitantly said he was welcome. "That's good to know," Draco replied, and added in a quick whisper "About the other day, I'm sorry." 

Harry knew he was feeling rather confused, but surely they were holding up the line of guests and this must be massively indiscreet, something Malfoy dreaded, but Narcissa had excitedly engaged Snape in a rather loud conversation. "I want to apologise properly," Draco added, and Harry took a step back in shock at the explicit implication in Draco's eyes and soft curving hand.

"Can we leave now, Mr Potter," Snape intervened. "I am more than tired of waiting to escort you back, and Draco has other guests."

With some relief Harry let go of Draco's hand, which Snape took up firmly.

"Draco, good night. It was a fascinating party." Harry could have sworn Draco blushed, a little; he certainly dropped his eyes. When he lifted them to Snape's again, Harry wished he hadn't been watching. Whatever that look meant it was intense and raw. 

Without hesitation the Professor produced a box from his robe. "I neglected to leave your birthday gift with the others. I should give it to you now." Harry saw Draco's mother stiffen, and run her eyes around the room, as if looking for someone. 

"It's a family piece," Snape continued, "but I've no use for it, and I thought you might."

Draco murmured his thanks and opened the box even as Narcissa took his elbow, jewellery subtly jangling, and gently reminded him that other guests were waiting.

"Of course, Narcissa, I'm sorry for holding you up," the Professor said. "The ring, Draco, will always take you home, wherever you are."

"Severus," Narcissa said in a lightly pitched voice, and Harry watched her graceful readjustment of the space so that she, Snape and Draco were facing one another without obviously excluding everyone else, "That's a very generous gift. It was your mother's wasn't it?" 

Harry felt a sick stab of jealousy and loss, saw the silver of a ring with a blue stone in Draco's hand, and felt the world spin away.


	6. c Persuasion

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first, I think. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com. 

Rating: R (at least, I'm pretty sure it's R – I have a way higher bar for NC17 but if anyone thinks I'm wrong I'd be grateful for the warning.

Pairings: This section – pretty much SS/HP.

Notes: This is closest I've got to publishing a sex scene. It's not quite, but it's getting there. As there will be sex later on, and I've never done this before, I would really value feedback on that element of the writing. I'm also not sure the reason why either of them are doing this is quite clear enough, but I don't want to have to explain it here. I'm sure it was better in the erased draft. Anyway, comments on that would also be particularly welcome before I revise this. 

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Definitely – especially to tell me what works and what doesn't.

****

Pervinco III (c): Persuasion

Harry felt the world come back into focus slowly and with a groan. There was an uncomfortable bitter watery feeling in his back of his throat, and the sides of his mouth, and. . .

"Here. Drink this Potter." Snape. He took the flask. The liquid was syrupy and foul, but as it slid down his throat he immediately began to feel better. 

Across the dimly lit room he could see Snape raising the fire. He wasn't sure where he was, but there was a Slytherin crest on the wall – so he was probably at Hogwarts – and another on the end of a large wooden bed. He sat up.

He was in an armchair between the bed and the fire, facing another across a low table. A flashing slither of green under glass – a snake in a glass column? Books. Snape closing a cabinet. A decanter and glasses. Snape in dark trousers and a white shirt. Harry closed his eyes until the buzzing went away.

"So we're lovers are we?" Snape said, placing a glass of what looked like water in Harry's hand. Trust Snape to find that amusing.

"I never said that. They just assumed. . ."

"And you didn't correct them?" Snape took the other armchair.

Harry gulped down half of the drink, which wasn't water, but was very nice. "No."

"Which reminds me, Mr Potter. I received your letter explaining why you felt compelled to accept Draco's declaration, but it failed to clarify why you are waiting till the last minute to accept a declaration you begged me to send you."

Oh. It hadn't occurred to Harry that Snape wouldn't predict what he planned. "I thought it was meant to be spectacular. I thought, at the last minute, in a public place, it would look more. . ."

"It would look forced, or like you were trying to embarrass me. I am not a teenager, Potter."

"Oh." Harry put the empty glass on the table and realised he didn't feel tired anymore.

"If you have any further hare-brained plans involving me I'd prefer to be consulted."

"But when? If I'm not supposed to. . ."

"For someone with such expertise at breaking rules and interfering you seem to have chosen a very inappropriate time to develop either scruples or timidity." The Professor put his own empty glass on the table. "Very well, Potter. I have office hours for Slytherin students on Tuesday, from 7pm to 9pm. If you must speak with me in person you may do so then."

"With a queue of Slytherins outside."

"As you say."

Harry nodded. It was better than nothing. 

"So, how do you want to. . ?" Harry looked around the room as if something would give him a clue, or at least keep him from looking at Snape. "I could send the letter. You could send Thetis to me, I mean. For the letter. How does she get to you down here anyway?" Snape clearly raised an eyebrow and folded his hands, as if fully prepared to wait out the babbling. Harry stopped.

"Did you write to Draco to seal the spell?" Snape calmly observed Harry's mortification.

"No," the boy said eventually, removing his glasses to clean them, although they were charmed.

"How did you do it then?" 

Snape didn't move – he wasn't closer – but it seemed that way. Harry looked at the fire, his hands, the floor. It was stupid to be embarrassed; he'd not done anything wrong. "I kissed him."

"I see." It was a strange tone, and Harry looked at Snape. 

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "Is this 'fatherly' concern or jealous interest." Snape huffed in amusement. "Yes, I guess. Yes. But I can't trust him." Now he wanted to cry more than laugh, and it seemed bitterly unfair that. . . "I can't get him out of my head."

"At your age," Snape said, "yes, every new experience. . ."

For a moment he wanted to be outraged but, yes, it was partly that. "But it wasn't entirely new," he finally said and, with a small smile added, "there was Angie Bell, and there was you."

"I'm thrilled to join the list, of course."

Snape shifted in his chair, and his unbuttoned collar fell away from his neck. Harry couldn't even feign surprise that he found that exciting. Snape gave him a dark look that just had to be consciously seductive, or at least conscious of how much he wanted to be seduced. 

Harry ran his hands over the brocade of the chair, feeling the texture, feeling his cock swell and his clothes itch, and trying not to panic. This is how I feel; this is who I am and what I want. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

"I think it's enough of an indignity that you accepted Draco Malfoy first. I'd rather avoid re-enacting your highly charged romantic scene."

"I never said it was like that." Snape smirked, and Harry looked away.

"So you don't trust Draco, but you do trust me?"

"I don't always believe you." He suddenly realised he couldn't see a door, and laughed at his own idiocy – carried drunk to an unknown place by a known Death-Eater; and had it really been years since he'd wondered if Snape had killed anyone. "But yes, even when I don't like you."

"Open your robe."

"What?" Some look crossed Snape's face. There was a moment in which they just looked at each other and Harry knew something turned on this, but not what or which way.

He put his fingers thickly to the clasps on his robe. He wanted to – his cock was suddenly pressing hard against his trousers telling him how much. One leg over the other, Snape rested his arms on the chair, touching his fingertips lightly together, and Harry remembered them in his hair, on his mouth. He pulled open the clasps roughly one by one. 

"Are you in a hurry?" Snape said, in a smooth voice. Harry's fingers slowed briefly but sped again as the other man moved one hand across his own face and into his hair, watching him – "It's important that you remember it" – Snape seemed to watch only his face, which didn't help.

Feeling stunned, Harry closed his eyes, but kept going. Was he going to. . . were they going to? Harry's cock swelled tautly, till it ached. 

Then, without warning Snape was slowly pulling him to his feet. An arm slipped around Harry's body under the open robe and then Snape's other hand lifted the cotton of his T-shirt, running fingers smoothly across his stomach, which jumped at the touch, prickling goosebumps up his chest and arms and forcing his erection painfully upwards. He lent a palm against Snape's shoulder for support and exhaled.

Snape's hand guided Harry's to the zipper on his own trousers. "Oh my god," Harry groaned and Snape's mouth was at his ear. 

"Do you remember the spell?"

Harry nodded, more times than was necessary, as Snape guided his own hand to open the fly. He shivered as Snape's lips brushed the side of his face, "Take yourself out." 

Harry knew what he meant, and his cock jumped and began to leak, but didn't know if he could do it. He leant his head on Snape's shoulder, and breathed in the crisp cotton of his shirt. His cock bounced stickily across his hand and he had to grasp at it twice. He was so hard it hurt to be touched, but almost involuntarily he pulled back on the soft skin and bucked into his own fist. Snape made a soft noise in his ear, and he did it again. 

"What are you going to give me, Harry?" 

Harry pulled back on his cock again with a sigh, and turned his mouth up towards Snape's face. He felt a rush at Snape's eyes on him, steady and intense. "Touch me," he whispered against the side of Snape's mouth.

Without a word there were long cool fingers wrapping around him, and Harry was grateful for the supporting arm behind him as his knees buckled. "God," he gasped. 

"That's not how it begins."

It took Harry a moment to sort that out as Snape slid a smooth hand up, tightened around the now dripping tip, and smoothed the slickness back down again, his breath on Harry's face. 

"Ahh."

"That's not it either," Snape whispered into his ear, touching a tongue just to his neck as if tasting him. "Do you know what I want now?" He stroked a little more firmly and Harry's hips jerked erratically into Snape's hold. 

"Do you want me to make you come?" Harry made an inarticulate sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper. "The spell, then."

With a mental shake he thought how powerful it was to be here, dangerously in Severus Snape's arms, with maybe so much and maybe just his own pleasure riding on what they did. 

"_Ego agnosco_." Harry whispered, as clearly as he could. Snape slid a little faster back towards the base of Harry's penis, and slipped a hand down to his bare arse to direct him more firmly. "_Vos suscipio_," Harry groaned, throwing back his head as Snape sucked hard on his neck. He suppressed a sharp cry as he came across his professor's hand in jagged spurts. It tore at his throat – the spell, the spell – and he moaned into Snape's neck, "_Pervinco_." 

The spell ratcheted through him in a hot surge. Snape caught him and lowered him to the chair.

After a moment he said, "Fuck." 

"Language, Mr Potter." Snape produced a towel from somewhere.

"Wow," the room faded back, "it didn't hit like that with Draco." Which was a stupid, thoughtless thing to say, and he closed his eyes against Snape's scorn

"I imagine the intensity of physical contact inflects it," Snape replied from across the room in a professional but not unfriendly voice, and Harry looked over at him. Snape stood in front a mirror fixed to the wall near his bed, his hair hanging loose, wiping his hands, and looking back at Harry in the glass.

"Wow again," Harry let his eyes drift shut. "I must remember to have sex with Zabini." 


	7. a Knight of Pentacles

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first. Find it, and previous parts, under "Isolde" @ ff.net and skyehawke.com. 

Rating: This section PG-13. (Story R overall.)

Pairings: This chapter – elements of SS/DM, HP/DM, SS/HP, RW/HG.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Definitely – especially to tell me what works and what doesn't.

Dedication: to ummatti/xikum, who has reviewed or given feedback on every chapter of this series thus far, and was nice enough to say she was impatient for more

****

Pervinco IV: (a) Knight of Pentacles 

The 7th year common room was not empty, although the clock above the mantle said _Very Late_. 

"Harry," Hermione said in a small voice. Ron left the room in a hurry without looking up, spurring a chorus of how worried they were and where had he been. Harry apologised and bore the fuss. Tired students began to trickle out, but Hermione just waited. 

"We were about to summon Professor McGonagall."

"I'm sorry Hermione, it was. . ."

"As Head Girl I should have reported you missing right away," she said sharply, but he knew she was close to tears. 

"I really am sorry," and he really was. He took one of the lounges. 

"Were you with him?"

"Um. It depends who you mean." She sat down beside him. "Hermione," he said. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Why don't you tell me?" 

He did. But, much to her dismay and astonishment, he insisted they go to her room, where he spelled the door shut and set up a wall of silence with a combination of spells she didn't even know was possible. 

* * *

When the sun came up through the east windows Harry and Hermione were lying in a pile on the floor laughing. Hermione was trying to get him to say it again – "Go on, really. . ."

"Hermione," Harry said, trying to be annoyed. "You don't have to make it sound so stupid."

"I know at least three versions of a tickling hex, Harry Potter."

"Fine." She stifled a laugh in anticipation. "I came all over Snape's hand." She collapsed back on the floor, flicking the papers spread around them into a new disorder. "If you're quite finished," Harry said. "I thought we were going to write these bloody letters."

"Harry," she said, drawing herself up against the base of her bed. "You have to stop this. I mean, the declaration makes sense but. . . don't you think you're letting them confuse you."

"Confuse me?"

"Well, think about it. They're both powerful, we don't really know how powerful, and now – out of nowhere – you're suddenly all, well, interested in them. It's just suspicious. I mean have you ever thought about a boy, or a man, like that before? Let alone. . . doing things like that."

"You think it's a spell?" 

"I don't know. But it's not normal." She gathered the papers back into a pile. "Obviously."

"Why would Snape. . ?"

"I don't know that either. But we do know he'd be prepared to put you in a lot of humiliating positions in the course of, you know, doing what he does."

"I suppose so," Harry agreed, but now the warm comfort of sharing all this with someone seemed a bit hollow. He'd always relied on Hermione for this kind of sense, but none of what she said quite meshed with what he knew, or what he felt.

She seemed to catch his shift in mood. "Maybe I don't understand, Harry. But you've got to get some more control over it. You can't keep being," she gestured vaguely, "buffeted around."

Which was true enough. He was distracted and unhappy, and maybe making a fool of Harry Potter was a more than acceptable side effect of whatever Snape and Malfoy were doing. 

She shoved a paper in his direction, "Now let's finish."

He looked at it. "I can't say that." Hermione groaned in frustration. "I can't. What if she's been reading about me for years and dreaming about this fantasy me and I just crush her?"

His friend pulled her brown cascade of hair back out of her face again with a sigh. "What if she just agreed because her parents insisted on it? Are you really going to lead Ginny on."

"You don't know that." They'd been through all of this already. "Maybe it can't hurt to meet them. Say it in person. It's not like I've dozens, like. . . like Draco has."

"Harry," Hermione said sternly. "He's manipulating you – you don't have to feel sorry for him."

Harry nodded, though he wasn't positive at what. "Let's finish yours," he ventured.

* * *

There were steps behind him along the corridor. 

"Harry", Draco said at his shoulder, one hand on his arm. 

Harry stepped out of his grasp. "What is it Malfoy?" 

With a puzzled look Draco said, "I sent you a note."

"I don't have to come running because you summon me." Harry took an even more obvious step away. "In fact. . . I'm sick of you both manipulating me." 

"Both," the boy replied flatly.

Harry crossed his arms and glared; he pointedly noticed the blue ring on Draco's left hand. 

Draco made as if to cover it with his right hand, and then didn't. "I wanted to congratulate you, on accepting Snape," he began. "It was in the _Prophet_ his morning." When Harry didn't reply he added "of course". 

Harry wanted to walk away, but he needed to hear it, to say it: "You're in love with him." 

Draco flinched. 

"Which I might understand," Harry continued. "But stop drawing me into whatever game this is. Leave me alone." He moved off down the hall, intending to clearly project that he had better places to be. 

Draco couldn't stop himself looking to see who might be around, but he did follow Harry. "I wasn't just playing with you. I needed your help." 

Harry just nodded as he walked, because if he'd said anything he would have screamed. When he reached the stairs to the Headmaster's office without replying, Draco stopped and watched him walk away.

* * *

Outside Dumbledore's office, Harry waited for Ron, who'd gone via the infirmary. 

After numerous failed attempts to finalise Hermione's declarations they'd taken down the wards, only to find Ron setting up a counterspell to break through them. Ron had been livid. He'd loudly suggested Harry was cheating with his girlfriend, and it was probably best for everyone that Hermione had hexed him mute half way through his first sentence to her. 

Harry waited nervously.

McGonagall, Snape and Sinistra came up the stairway, a grim trio. 

"Are you waiting out here for a reason, Harry?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Ron," he said shortly, not meeting Snape's gaze. 

"Well I think you can go in now," she said, evidently taken aback.

"Lemon twist," Snape said to the gargoyle, with apparent resentment. Harry followed him in.

Ron and Hermione were already there, as was Professor Sprout. Hermione had been crying. Ron looked pale and sat with clenched fists, focusing on Dumbledore's desk.

"Come in, come in," Dumbledore said. They arranged themselves quietly. "We have all four Heads of house here, as is customary for a case that may involve expulsion." 

Hermione made a noise in her throat. "Headmaster," Harry began, "I can't see how what Hermione did. . ."

"Perhaps we shall begin with Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, "to allay her friends' fears. Hermione, why don't you tell us what happened this morning."

She took a shaky breath. "Harry and I were talking after he, um, returned from the party," she threw a glance at Snape, who didn't respond at all, but Harry knew at least Dumbledore and McGonagall had noticed. "We put wards up, so as not to be interrupted," here she glanced at Harry, and for once he could see the significance of knowing how not to do that.

"I tried to cast the Rite spell that would accept someone, and it wouldn't work." Her confusion was evident. "So I tried it for someone else, and it did work, so I went back to the first one. . ."

"Ms Granger," Snape interrupted, "perhaps under the circumstances, things would be clearer if you used names." She looked nervously at the Headmaster, who nodded.

"Professor Snape," she said. There was a tense pause. "I tried to accept Professor Snape's declaration," Ron dropped his head, and although he hadn't said a word it was very expressive, "and it wouldn't work. Then I tried to accept Ron, and that worked," she looked at Ron, who hadn't moved. "So I tried other versions for the Professor, and nothing worked." She looked up to meet Snape's gaze and blushed intensely. "So then I tried to accept Justin's, just to see, and that wouldn't work either. So, Harry and I did a few detection spells. . ." she trailed off.

"And there's some kind of bond," Harry said. "So she can't cast spells."

"Some spells," Hermione corrected him in a worried voice. "My class work has been fine."

Dumbledore looked at her patiently, and Hermione gripped her own wrists tightly and said, "And then Ron was yelling and I hexed him, and now I can't reverse it." 

There were a few cautious responses from the staff. Sprout said "Oh dear", and McGonagall made a disapproving clucking sound. 

"I know it's unacceptable behaviour for a Head Girl, and of course I expect to be," her voice hitched, "dismissed. But please don't expel me. Hogwarts, my education, it's everything to me." 

Sinistra clearly couldn't contain herself any longer. "Do we have the girl's wand?" Hermione handed her wand to the Astronomy Professor, who began shuffling through the prior spells still in effect.

"_Deletrius_," Professor Sprout offered.

"It should work," Sinistra agreed, still examining the wand, "but it's been tried. The first evident difficulty was with the spell to acknowledge a declaration?" 

Hermione nodded. 

"So what went wrong?" Sinistra said to herself. 

Snape made a small amused noise and raised an eyebrow towards McGonagall. Harry supposed Professor Sinistra did rather seem to be enjoying herself.

"I think Ron used a special version of the spell," Harry said when Hermione didn't offer it. The expressions around him suggested that "special" was a synonym for "dangerously stupid".

"I assume you can hear perfectly well, Mr Weasley," Snape said, and Ron managed to communicate added distress without looking at any of them. "Which 'special version'?"

"I might know," Hermione said, "more or less." Snape scowled at Ron's lack of response but gestured for her to continue. She gave a brief but careful account of the spell, occasionally glancing at Ron, who never once attempted to contribute. 

"_Habeo in animo_?" McGonagall said when Hermione reached that part. "Are you sure?" Hermione nodded, biting her lip. "Not animus or anima?" No. "And then?"

"Another cut," the girl said, "this way" – she ran a finger from the tip of her longest right finger, down to her wrist.

"Where would the boy have found that spell as a blood magic bond?" Sinistra asked. 

Snape got to his feet, with a cold eye on Ron. "Excuse me," he said, and left the room. If anything, Ron looked even more upset.

McGonagall got up and walked to the window, giving Hermione a stern look. "To think it would happen in Gryffindor. What on earth were you thinking Miss Granger? You surely know spells involving the caster's blood are as a rule binding spells." 

"Several versions of _declaro_ included cutting," the girl protested, "and I recognized the beginning. . . You must be so disappointed."

Sinistra drummed her fingers contemplatively. "It wouldn't work," she said abruptly. "Apart from activating the declaration; it wouldn't create a more serious bond. Even if you were a witness" – Hermione nodded – "it wouldn't activate anything even mildly restrictive unless you participated." 

Hermione blushed and looked away. "Well," she said softly, "I kissed him." 

"Before, during or after," Snape said abruptly, re-entering the room. He placed a large book, open, on the desk. Sinistra leant over it. Ron ran his hands through his hair and looked up into Snape's angry glare. His eyes on Ron, Snape repeated "Before, during or after, Ms Granger?"

"During," Hermione said. "Before the last line." 

"Did you have sex with him? Did you ingest or touch his blood," Snape asked angrily.

"Really, Professor Snape," McGonagall said, "there's no call. . ." 

"No," Hermione said. "Well definitely no to. . . ingesting. I don't think any blood touched me."

"And sex? Don't look at me like that Professor McGonagall, we obviously need to know."

"No," Hermione replied after a pause, looking fixedly at Dumbledore's desk, "not then." Nobody commented. 

"Surely this book isn't available in our library," Sinistra said, turning another page.

"The boy stole it from my rooms," Snape said. "I've been looking into the Rite and he must have removed it during one of the many days recently when I've been forced to be preoccupied by the nonsense resulting from the decision to allow. . ."

"Now now, Professor, please," Dumbledore said mildly. "It's a serious situation, but we know that Mr Weasley meant no harm, and it has had most unfortunate consequences for him."

"What we all know," Snape snapped, "is that he invoked a blood bond with an unknowing participant without making any effort to ascertain its effects – assuming of course that he didn't know them in advance. I grant you the boy's silence is actually a bonus in most respects, but if he were in Slytherin we would not be sitting here discussing how unfortunate this all is for him."

"Ron would never hurt Hermione," Harry said angrily, getting to his feet. Snape met him right in front of Dumbledore's desk. 

"Because he 'loves' her, Mr Potter?"

"Yes!"

"And exactly what protection from causing harm does that provide in your adolescent fantasies?" 

"You bastard."

"One hundred points from Gryffindor."

"Headmaster!" McGonagall exclaimed. 

"I will let the penalty stand." Harry turned an appalled expression towards Dumbledore. "I can't fairly find the points an excessive penalty for Mr Weasley's misjudgement, Miss Granger's negligence, and Mr Potter's. . . temper. If we could all sit down." Harry bit the inside of his mouth to keep from saying what he thought, and glared at Snape's profile.

"I really can't reverse the spell, Headmaster," Hermione said quietly. 

"I believe you, my dear," Dumbledore replied. "Professor Snape?"

"I suspect that will be because Mr Weasley does not want the spell reversed. Ms Granger's magic may be restricted by what he wants. She could accept him, but no one else. If this is the case she cannot make him speak when he fears having to admit what he has done." Snape stood over Ron and sneered down at him. "And I thought he was a Gryffindor, and a Weasley."

Ron raised swollen eyes to Snape, who nodded at Hermione. She took her wand and, with a gesture, said hesitantly "_Finite Incantatum_." 

Ron looked at her, Snape, Dumbledore. "I didn't know it would do anything like this," he said. "I thought it was just another version. . ."

Snape remained standing over him. "But you knew it was meant to be stronger, more certain."

Ron nodded. "But I didn't think that was a bad thing." He looked at Hermione. "Hermione, I'm so sorry."

She didn't meet his eyes and, after a few minutes said, "How can I find out what it means?"

"We'll find the parameters, Hermione, don't worry," McGonagall said, sympathetic again. "And these things always fade with time and are easier to combat when you know they're there." 

But Sinistra was glaring at Ron almost as much as Snape. "Headmaster," she said. "I am not at all satisfied Mr Weasley's punishment is sufficient – only thirty or so points from his house?"

There was an extended silence, into which Dumbledore said, "I think perhaps Hermione and Harry might leave us for the present." Harry went to protest and the Headmaster gave him a fond look – "Harry, we understand how you feel. But we need to have this conversation privately."

Harry did look at Ron, but there was really no arguing with Dumbledore when he used that genial tone. Ron met his eyes for what felt like the first time in months.

"Thanks Harry," he said, "but I think you'd better go." 

They wouldn't expel Ron, surely. He hadn't done any real harm, had he? Had he? Hermione was clearly in shock. Harry took her arm as they left and she grasped his hand tightly. As the door closed he watched Ron take his seat in silence. Hermione walked straight to the stairs without looking back. 

* * *

When Ron returned, the common room was empty except for Harry, who was sure that's what he would want. Of course, he probably wanted to see a Hermione who forgave him more than anything, but Hermione had made it quite clear she didn't want to see Ron Weasley right now. 

Ron looked around slowly and then went straight to their room, but he didn't close the door. Harry waited in the doorway, watching Ron, who stood in the middle of the room as if lost.

"Ron?" Without replying, Ron dragged the trunk out from under his bed and doggedly began to pack, beginning with the chest beside his bed. 

"Ron?" Harry tried again, in a more urgent tone. "They didn't – I'm sure it's a mistake – I'll talk to Dumbledore – everyone knows you would never. . ."

Ron stopped with a bright orange T-shirt in his hand. "But I did. I didn't mean to restrict her magic or make her do what I want, but I knew it was stronger, and I didn't. . . think to check everything that meant. I just," he sat down on the bed, "wanted it. Wanted her."

"Mione will understand," Harry said, almost desperately, hoping it was true.

"Maybe."

Harry joined him on the bed. "They're. . . they're really sending you away?" 

"Sort of."

"Ron, please, tell me." He'd never seen Ron so unhappy – not furious, or scowling, Ron did those things, but desperately unhappy. "I know we've been distant, and I'm sorry. . ."

"It's my fault, Harry," Ron said calmly. "Or, mostly – you do have appalling taste in blokes." 

Harry smiled sadly. "Yeah." They sat there. "Tell me, Ron."

"The points from Gryffindor; I have to tell my parents in person when they've been called in," Ron paused; "and I'm moving to the dungeons."

"They're sending you to Slytherin!?"

"No. Worse. I'm Snape's lab slave until the end of term." Harry couldn't even ask if he'd heard correctly, his mind simply wouldn't have invented that. "Kind of permanent detention, but also so he has time to work on the. . . on what I did to Hermione. . . and on things like it."

"Oh Ron."

"I hate it that they're kicking me out of Gryffindor, and that everyone will know. But it's not unfair."

"No it's not, it's ridiculous. It's exile – and why him, what's it got to do with him?"

"Snape's a vicious bastard and a total wanker. Sorry." Harry smiled and shrugged. "But, he's been tutoring me – duelling, classes, everything – so I'd have a better chance with Hermione." 

Harry wasn't sure he'd ever been more shocked by anything. Being a wizard, being a parselmouth, Sirius, the tournament – this seemed just as astonishing: Snape helping Ron? "He's not exactly nice about it, he likes humiliating me, but he's doing it. And I stole from him," Ron continued. "And embarrassed him. I think he feels responsible. God, I'm such an arse."

Ron started packing again and Harry sat there, stunned. "You could help you know," Ron said with a tentative smile. "I've got to get my gear down to the Master's quarters before dinner."

Harry went to the wardrobe, where he turned and ventured a grin. "You're an idiot, Ron."

"Shut up and help me pack, Harry."


	8. b Knight of Pentacles

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first, I think. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com. 

Rating: R.

Pairings: This chapter – elements of SS/DM, HP/DM, SS/HP, RW/HG.

Notes: Dialogue just seemed to drag this time, and I couldn't quite edit it to anything tighter. Every time I tried they kept wanting to talk about something else. And Snape, Snape is just talking far too much. I blame ff.net.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Definitely – especially to tell me what works and what doesn't.

Dedication: All chapter 4 is for xikum, although as it's not very HP/SS, she may wish she got a different one.

****

Pervinco IV (b): Knight of Pentacles 

SEVERUS:

The clock announces _Office Hours _and the door clicks open. 

Within a minute there's a polite knock. I've been expecting him, but also wishing it was over. There's been little time for sleep and I've been thinking about him more than is reasonable, more than I should, and in ways that won't make this easier. 

"Mr. Malfoy, come in."

Draco enters with a sheaf of papers, wearing a blue silk robe that clings to his chest and hips, and against which his eyes look quite blue. It's not the most attractive look for him. The cut, and the emphasis on his hair and eyes, is too feminine. He looks like a too carefully dressed girl, and too delicate. You can see he knows and resents that. 

But as he moves to slide into a chair and the fabric swishes across the leather, there's a prickling across my skin at the thought of running a hand over the silk to feel it move against the boy's skin. 

I catch the flicker that suggests Draco knows what I'm thinking, but I'll let it slide. I'm not quite sure if I'm encouraging him. Clearly I've been spending far too much time with, rather than just around, adolescents. Potter's eyes fluttering as I touch him. Inelegant blue silk slithering. 

"The blue really isn't you," I finally say.

"I need someone to find a tradition with a better colour scheme," he replies smoothly, leaning forward to place the small pile of papers on my desk, silk whispering. "But it's that time."

"You've made your decisions?"

"These are the declarations I've retained for the second stage. I thought you might look through the texts, rather than just the names." I see him twist my ring on his finger; he wants me to see. "I'd value your opinion."

I pull them towards me, with a momentary flash of disappointment that I won't be on this list. We would certainly enjoy the first few months, before the distrust and paranoia set in, before his need for something he can't ever accept drove him to hate me, before we started searching out more painful weaknesses and betraying each other pre-emptively. I didn't need Lucius' instruction to know courting Draco would be a bad idea. "Has Lucius seen these?"

"Not from me, but probably."

I flick through the pages. Elise Mansour's letter refers to money, a job, political and social connections, implies a marriage contract, and is bound to be the standard. Filius Hartwood: young, good-looking, wealthy, a moron, his father's puppet. "I thought I advised you to drop Hartwood?"

"Father was insistent, and I think I can handle Filius." His mouth twists with distate. "He was also emphatic about Parkinson." I flick past the next formulaic letter. 

"Parkinson for Ministry and Durmstrang connections. But why Hartwood," I wonder aloud. "I suppose we shall find out." I just catch Draco's small intake of breath. The expression on his face is guarded by the time I look up, but I know what the sound meant, and wonder if the surprise is over my interest or my admission of it. "Did he comment on Delacour?"

"He was curious, as she was on his list to be rejected."

"He's unlikely to complain at this stage. She's an obvious prospect, although her father has dubious commitments," Draco raises an eyebrow, and I can't help but appreciate the slight asymmetry as well as the tribute to myself, "from a certain point of view." 

I turn to the final sheet and have to quash the urge to tell him I won't permit it. "Lupin?"

"Was my choice."

"And Lucius. . ?"

"Assumed he was your recommendation, and implied he would be asking for an explanation."

We both want to know if I will help him with this. "Perhaps you should explain my reasoning to me."

"Remus," it's Remus now, he stresses it just slightly to let me know, "keeps me close to Dumbledore, gives me a safe place at Hogwarts, knows many influential people, has not inconsiderable talents."

All things I could have done and we both know it. But I'd have to take special leave of my senses before I played those games with a Malfoy again. "That's it?"

"I wouldn't mind teaching." I know he'd rather teach Potions, though the Dark Arts is the other subject in which he excels. "And he's tolerably attractive, if untidy bordering on scruffy appeals."

"As I'm assuming it must."

"Not especially," he says in a quiet voice and I look away from his expression – as if this is the last chance for something that never had a chance.

He can't seriously mean to take Lupin as a lover. It's ludicrous, or some passing thing to anger me. I reread Lupin's letter, which seems serious and tenable and fills me with suspicion. I remind myself it was all Dumbledore's idea. 

"Which reminds me," Draco continues as if the pause didn't conceal so much, "can we do something about the Gryffindor infestation – the dungeons are positively crawling with them."

"Mr Weasley will keep to himself. He certainly wants to be here less than the Slytherins want him here – although you're residing in Gryffindor yourself." He smirks at me as if I know better, and I'm tempted to push the question about Lupin.

"I didn't realise using spells that border on unforgiveable would get me a place in your rooms – I just knew there was a strategy I hadn't considered." I should crush his impudence, but I have to laugh. 

"Also, Granger and Potter are waiting outside," he says through the grin, "But don't worry, he's not wearing blue." 

I'm over-indulging the brat, I know, but it may be for the best. "I'll be sure to pass on your interest in his apparel, Mr Malfoy," I say, pushing his letters towards him. "Your father may accept my 'explanation' about Lupin, but I fail to see what you will gain from prolonging that tension till midwinter."

"I mean to accept him, if I can." My surprise must register in some way because he adds, "Obviously I would prefer to remain at Hogwarts." When I don't respond, because the repercussions of that preference are rapidly multiplying, he adds, "You'd prefer I didn't remain at Hogwarts?"

"We'll talk next week, Draco," I say steadily. "Send Granger in, tell Potter to wait."

He takes his letters – I can almost hear the obscene silk garment slide across his thighs – but pauses on his way to the door. 

"Would you ask Harry to speak to me?" he says, without turning back.

"Why would I do that?"

"I'm cut off from Slytherin, he's cut off from Gryffindor," he doesn't say all over you, but I feel the implication. "We can help one another."

"Would you be helping him, Draco?" 

He nods. "If you want me to." But how long, boy dragon, before you suspect he has something you want. Draco looks at me then, and I know he is already sure of that, and there's nothing I could do to correct him.

"I will talk to him. But I will also remind him to be careful." 

His pleased smile reminds me that he's seventeen, and how much I really want to crawl back into my Potions laboratory, far from all of these children with their needs and wants and offers. 

* * *

The girl made a flustered exit, and Snape can't help being pleased. She's always been irritatingly sure of herself – intelligent, yes, she can use what she knows, but she knows far less than she thinks, including about herself. 

Harry Potter came in rather cautiously. 

"Mr Potter." 

Taking the green armchair obviously placed for students, he clasped his hands together, scanning the room nervously as Snape has seen him do before. 

"You had something to say, Mr Potter?"

"Yes," Harry brushed untidy hair out of his face. "I'm sorry," he said emphatically. 

Snape leant back in his chair, "About what, in particular?"

"The party, after the party, yesterday. And before."

"Usually apologies are rather more specific." Harry shrugged. "All right. I expect you to be capable of better judgment than you showed at the Malfoy party."

"I know." Snape watched him run another hand through his hair. "It's frustrating, not knowing what people want. I know you think I'm naively obvious," Snape didn't correct him, "but there's a big gap between that and never saying what you want or mean."

Snape pushed his marking away across the desk and turned his chair pointedly towards Harry Potter. "Are you asking me a question?" 

There was one of those pauses in which Harry wished he knew the right thing to ask. Certainly those weren't confined to Snape, but lately he was definitely at the top of the list. 

"Can I ask about Ron?"

* * *

Seamus and Hermione were attempting to play chess in the common room when Harry came in. As usual there were cautious and speculative looks thrown his way, a tension around him that was more difficult now Ron was gone. 

He didn't have to ask her – as he went up to his room he heard Hermione plead how tired she was and the others wish her goodnight sympathetically. He left his door open.

"Harry," she said, coming straight to where he sat on the bed, "what did he say?"

"He won't let me help him." She nodded, unsurprised. "I explained how much more Ron needs to be here," Hermione took his hand, "and that it wouldn't bother me," she squeezed it. "I think he's not to keen on the idea of me hanging around all the time."

"He's offered me an apprenticeship," she said in voice that seemed uncertain whether it was happy or not, "or rather a trial, starting after Christmas, to see if I really want it."

"That's wonderful."

"You knew! He told you."

"Yeah. I'm happy for you, Mione, you deserve it. But, did he say anything about Ron?"

"Only that I'd see him in classes tomorrow, and if I want to talk to him he'll be having lunch with us in the Great Hall every day."

"Was what Ron did really that bad?" Hermione pulled away, biting her lip. "Sorry. I mean, it's terrible that it happened, but he didn't mean to, and Ron won't stop you casting whatever you want to cast."

"But that's not how it works. It's not just the Pervinco spell, it's anything he wouldn't genuinely want me to do, and how do I know where that stops?"

"But he didn't know, you know he didn't! You didn't even know and you're. . ."

"Don't you think I know that? That I should have known – that everybody thinks it's me that should have known!" She lay back on the bed, looking at the moon pattern the bed curtains. "And they're right. I can't believe I let him do it."

"You did it because you love Ron."

"But why do I?"

"What?" Harry paused, taking that in. "Because he's Ron – you're Hermione and he's Ron."

"I told Snape it was my fault, and he asked me what I wanted with Ron Weasley if I didn't even think he was capable of being responsible for his own mistakes." Harry lay down next to her and waited. "And I don't know the answer."

There was a long silence – long enough that the pattern of moonlight had moved. After a while, Hermione took Harry's hand again in the dim light, and a little later she rolled into his arm to rest her head on his chest. 

"You remember when you said Snape or Draco might have some kind of spell on me, because of how. . . abnormally I was acting?" 

She nodded against his robe, and her hair tickled his face. She slid an arm across his chest and whispered, "Yes".

"It's ironic, isn't it?" 

* * *

Severus took the candle from his desk to light his way to bed. His leg brushed against the chair in which Draco had lounged, provoking him; in which Harry had curled, looking vulnerable. Potter afraid that loneliness would harm a friend has none of the edge of the young man that shuddered in Snape's arms, lashes brushing his cheek, heated lips apart. 

Turning back the covers he couldn't help but wonder, and in his mind they flashed, superimposed across his candlelit bed. He snuffed out the light, easing into the cold sheets that dragged uncomfortably against his semi-hard prick. Severus Snape had immense self-control, and he would sleep regardless. But it would be easier, more pleasant. . .

A soft hand glanced across his stomach and folded around his prick and he let it, easily at first and then more firmly, more slickly. Get it over with. Malfoy twisting his bare hips towards him, a long writhing arm across the white sheet, daring prick upright and glistening, licking his lips. Potter's hair fanning across the pillow as his neck arched and he gasped in that urgent unpracticed responsive way, as Severus ran a tongue across a tight nipple – for the very first time – and reached down to grasp that delicious cock again and hear that breathy aching noise once more. Another hand grasped his balls gently and coaxed his cock higher and harder. Draco's tongue sliding out of a sexy smirk to trace the tip of his penis; Harry's green eyes closing as he arched to direct his firm young arse back onto. . ; Severus came hard with a groan that seemed to reach right down into his groin. 

* * *

"Forethought," Ron muttered resentfully to the dark green door. It didn't budge until he said it loudly and clearly. The young Slytherin girls cautiously passing on the opposite side of the corridor giggled, and he turned to scowl at them. They ran in a laughing gaggle to the stairs.

"Stupid Slytherin bints," he grumbled, closing the door behind him and beginning to unpack his book bag. He already knew everything had to be exactly where everything went, even in his own rooms. Snape routinely inspected the workroom, and even his bedroom had to be tidy.

On the board near the door was this afternoon's list. Ron groaned. Newts' eyes. He hated newts' eyes. A row of glass bottles were lined up on one shelf, and a large tub he could already smell sat in the middle of the workbench. A lot of newts' eyes.

"Mr Weasley," Snape said, coming in the door from his own rooms. Ron had spent most of the first week setting up these two small rooms by hand, no magic: one to work and one to sleep. It already felt like a prison, and the Christmas break seemed a lifetime away.

"I'm late because of a meeting with Professor McGonagall and my parents." Ron knew by now not to apologise, just to explain.

Snape nodded and gestured to the desk, where a stack of papers lay. Ron looked at them without even pretending enthusiasm. "_What is a potion? Dreamless Sleep._" He turned a page and looked up at Snape. "1st year Potions essays?" 

"The newts' eyes need to be extracted after sunset, and you will clearly mark the bottles as such. Until then you can mark this drivel."

"I," Ron gaped. "I've never been any good at Potions."

"You've never attempted to be any good at it. But you have passed six years of my classes. I doubt this pile of misspelled bumbling is beyond even you." Ron sighed unhappily. "If you finish these in time we will work on reflexive cursing upstairs. Your reaction time is appalling and we missed last week's tutorial." 

Ron took his seat at the desk. "I didn't think you'd be teaching me any more."

"I finish what I start." Ron nodded and picked up his quill. "What, no moaning Weasley? If you don't accuse me of inhuman cruelty or slavery before I leave I shall think I've not given you enough to do. You'll put my evening routine quite out."

Ron opened the first essay: 

__

What is a Potion? Dreemless Sleep.

By Andrew McVay. 

A potien is mixing things to do something the wizard wants to have done. . . 

Snape was still here.

"Was there anything else?" Snape leant against the workbench, apparently untroubled by dead newt stench, and indicated he should proceed. Ron looked back down at McVay's paper and corrected the spelling. Snape was. . . "You're not going to stand there and watch me are you?"

"I was rather waiting for the breakdown. My father is so ashamed of me, my mother cried; the love of my life scorns me as a selfish idiot. . ."

"Shut. Up." Ron said in a low hoarse voice. "Please just shut up and leave me alone." 

"You don't want to rant and abuse me, then? I rather enjoy those sessions. Have you considered teaching as a future career?"

Ron glared at him, and Snape smirked back. Ron looked back down at the page and began correcting the grammar. He felt rather than saw Snape's shadow fall over him. "It's a relief to discover you do know what a complete sentence is in time for graduation."

"It was an accident," Ron whispered. "It was stupid, I should have been more careful, or asked. And why didn't Hermione notice, she's supposed to be the brilliant one and she didn't think. . ." he stopped, just on the edge of shouting and took a breath. 

"My mother thinks I did it on purpose," he continued more calmly. "She didn't say so but I could see it. She thinks I was trying to stop Hermione going off without me," he looked up at Snape and realised he was crying; "Hermione thinks so too."

"Those who love you don't always know you best," Snape said quietly. "Now stop blubbering over your own stupidity and mark that stupidity instead. However, I have better things to do than watch you mope all evening so you can join the Gryffindor babble after dinner if you wish." Ron looked at the vat of dead amphibians. "They're in stasis; you can catch up tomorrow." Snape left.

__

The hardest thing about a potien is the long time waiting for everything. 

__

God, Ron thought, what a waste of ink.


	9. c Knight of Pentacles

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com. 

Rating: This section PG-13 (R overall)

Pairings: This chapter – elements of SS/DM, HP/DM, SS/HP, RW/HG.

Notes: Thanks to the people who pointed out that I'd put Sinistra as Head of Ravenclaw rather than Flitwick. Thanks for keeping an eye out for my mistakes as I don't have a beta reader for this series, and as the 16/17 debacle proves I can certainly make such errors even when I think I'm being careful. KoP should have had a note that said something like "In canon, the Head of Ravenclaw is Flitwick, but part of this story needs Flitwick to have been replaced by Sinistra. You do find out why, but not in this chapter, where I wanted to make it clear that this change is not treated as anything spectacular or contentious by either staff or students." Perhaps I'll add a thought to Harry's narration comparing what Flitwick might have been like in that situation – hmm, that's a good idea, it'll go in the revised version. 

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Definitely – especially to tell me what works and what doesn't.

Dedication: Chapter 4 is for xikum, whose feedback has helped me keep writing.

HERMIONE:

I've got half an eye out for Ron and Harry while trying to avoid seeing Seamus and Dean at all, though I can hear them still competing over how many sausages they can eat. It's just frightful to think someone's going to let them apparate by this time next year. I've entirely given up hope that the Rite would raise the standard of maturity just a little. Most of my attention, however, is on _An Index to Wizarding Bonds_. 

If you were going to pick a now defunct wizarding ritual to highlight the pleasure and power of tradition – neatly representing Muggles as uncultured oafs by the way – then I've got to concede you would choose the Rite of Engagement. Forget that it makes a kind of party game out of inescapably binding contracts, from a distance it looks headily romantic and practical at once. Except when it's undermining everything in your life. I can feel the pity and taste the gossip.

As most of the senior students leave I catch Ginny looking at me. She's been very tense with me, barely speaking. She thinks it was my responsibility to know better too, after all Ron's just a headstrong carelessly passionate Weasley boy, and we're not supposed to care when they blow up the kitchen, dye our hair purple, or control our spell-casting abilities, because they didn't mean any harm. I admire Ginny's loyalty, but her prejudice is bloody irritating. Sigh, and now I sound like Ron.

I finally see them arriving, past a huddle of Hufflepuffs, just as a fan of owls – I wonder is every group of owls a parliament, or only when they're roosting – comes in through the upper windows specially designed for them. There's perhaps a dozen, all trailing sparkling and multi-coloured streamers and ribbons. Ron gives me his can-you-believe-it smile across the room. 

I am still angry with him; I can't imagine not being angry with him until the bond is broken or can be breached. But Mr Weasley said he was so unhappy, and I know he must be. I've only seen him in classes, where he's always quiet, and always looking at me. They were so apologetic, and poor Mr Weasley, you'd think he'd done it himself. I can appreciate Ron's smile, then, because I know he must be working at it. I move my books and tea to an empty part of the table where they can join me. Some more settings materialise as I do, so I guess it's not as late as I thought.

Ron and Harry are blocked by departing students who stop, of course, to watch the owls, one or two of which swerve off towards where they stand. Poor Harry.

* * *

DRACO:

Part of me dreads the gifts, yet another spectacle of Malfoy privilege and centrality, but one which makes it clear that I am not Malfoy, I am merely his accessory, or perhaps whore. I'd known the owls would be decorated now, that's the listed tradition. But it's gaudier than I expected, and I can't help but find it distasteful. The younger Hufflepuffs are laughing and pointing – their happiness makes me feel faint and ill. I have never been that boy. 

What a pathetically self-pitying thought.

HARRY:

Draco moves slightly to one side, as if trying to separate himself from everyone else while this happens. And they descend towards him, turning around each other and towards him, trailing colour. He extends what looks like a reluctant hand to take the nearest owl, taking an envelope. 

I saw the owl coming to me, of course, and I can hear it trying to get my attention. But I wait till Draco looks at me, and manage what I hope is a friendly smile. I've given Snape's request that I talk to Draco more than a week's consideration. I've not really been avoiding him; in fact I think he's carefully avoided me. He returns the smile tentatively, and I know a number of people notice, including Ron. 

"You going to take this thing or not, Harry. The owl's getting impatient."

Neither of us mention Draco as we get the white box free of its entanglement in red and gold ribbons. 

RON:

I can see him watching Malfoy, and trying not to. I see Malfoy glance at him, while trying to keep himself separate from everyone. And I actually have to pity them both – yeah, even Malfoy. Cause it will never work. It doesn't even matter what they really want. The whole school, maybe the whole wizarding world, is shaped by how impossible it is for the-boy-who-lived to. . . I really don't want to even think that.

* * *

They waited in the corridor to Gryffindor Tower for gawking groups of younger students to move on. Colin they had to ask to please go away, and he gave Harry a desperately forlorn look. 

"Colin have a crush on you too?" Ron asked.

"Only for years," Hermione said, as if it wasn't news, and it probably wasn't.

Harry didn't bother to reply, though he couldn't help thinking Ginny caused him a lot more problems. He slipped the box out of his robe. 

"Do you think it's from Malfoy?" Ron asked.

"Why?"

"I saw you. . . looking at each other."

"Ron," Hermione whispered crossly. It was such a familiar expression Ron had to smile. Hermione smiled back.

"I didn't mean it like that," Ron said after the moment had passed. "I just wondered." 

The box contained a folded letter and a squat glass bottle. 

"Perhaps it's from Professor Snape," Hermione said.

Harry unfolded the sheet of parchment and read aloud: "_To Harry Potter, Please find enclosed a token of my admiration and esteem. A meeting has been proposed to your representatives and I look forward to meeting you in person. I am honoured that you have decided to consider my proposal. Warm regards from Hilary Malkin._"

"Oh my," Hermione said, taking the box and running a finger over the label, "_Veritaserum_."

"And look how much," Ron added. "That'd be worth a fortune." 

"I'm sure it's illegal to give this. It's a restricted substance." Hermione lifted it out of the box, as if it would turn out to be something else on closer inspection. Harry, however, was apparently still re-reading the note. "Come on, you two," she said, watching Harry with some concern, "let's get to the tower. Padma has Entrancing Marshmallows."

* * *

In the Gryffindor common room, the fight about why Draco Malfoy received so many declarations had heated up again, fed by Malfoy's array of gifts over the last week. Neville just couldn't see why it mattered to the rest of them, or how it was something Malfoy should be hated for. Dean had already said Neville must really be a Hufflepuff, sending Neville into one of the pained silences that drove Dean even more crazy, when Ron, Harry, and Hermione arrived.

It was agreed by most of Gryffindor that Ron's life was over. And it was almost certainly all Snape's fault. Or maybe a Slytherin thing. Hermione really should have seen what was going wrong, anyway. Though Harry had explained it all in detail more than once, the Gryffindor rumour mill was not entirely convinced. In any case Ron's appearance made most of them uncomfortable. Hermione, however, had a plan. 

"Neville, we didn't read the _Prophet Supplement_ this week, what with everything else," There was some uncomfortable shuffling, over which Hermione brightly said, "so let's do that." Although there were many surprised glances, everyone was genuinely willing. Hermione hated the _Supplement_ thing, but Ron liked it and that, at least, made sense – Hermione trying to make Ron happy. It was also something of an event that Harry stayed. 

* * *

_. . . the Minister stated that every effort would be made to have the venue as well as the trials conform to the original wizarding traditions. . ._

Hermione sniffed and said – along with the spontaneous and almost perfectly timed accompaniment of half the room – "which original tradition?" She gave them an annoyed glare, and then she smiled too.

_. . . the central trials are held over two days – the first day of magical and other demonstrations, and the second of duels. . ._

Amidst various excited voices explaining what that meant, Harry said, "What's the big deal, we've done dueling before." 

"Haven't we?" he added, when everyone stared at him.

"This is all of Wizarding Britain and Ireland," Seamus insisted. 

Even Neville agreed that it was something spectacular. "There are rounds all over the place, and the winners go to London for a great tournament."

"I've not exactly had the best experience with tournaments."

"Harry, no," Seamus scoffed, "this is just part of the Rite, there's nothing dangerous about it." 

"You have to try out, Harry, you're one of our best hopes," Dean pleaded. "Come on, it'll be wizard!" 

Harry smiled at Dean's very tired pun. He exchanged a skeptical look with Hermione, it did sound kind of fun.

* * *

Professor Flitwick offered the 7th year three optional strands for their Thursday and Friday classes: glamours, charmed objects, and defensive or protective charms. Harry, Ron and Hermione – tentatively reasserting their solidarity, although everyone knew nothing was the same – agreed on the same combination: Objects on Thursdays, Protection on Friday. On the first Friday in October, the Professor entered with a stranger. 

"Good morning 7th year," most of the class managed to murmur a polite phrase, while blatantly staring at the young man beside him. "I'd like to introduce to you Dante Sangermano, who'll be helping with the next few classes. Dante was quite the Charms champion at Beauxbatons just before you came to Hogwarts, and he's agreed to help instruct you in defensive charms over the next few weeks." 

The new tutor was, Lavender whispered it first but no one could disagree as the opinion fluttered through the assembled students, incredibly handsome. When he finally spoke there was a conspicuous silence and then a murmur of appreciation. Dante – "call me Dante," he said with a smooth smile – was younger than the Professors and laughed easily in a richly foreign accent. 

"Italian," Harry heard Pansy say in a low knowing voice, "I met him at Draco's." Harry immediately looked for a response, but Malfoy's face was even more closed than usual. He didn't acknowledge Harry's attention. Instead he picked at the blue robe Harry knew he hated, and if there was anything in his expression it was closest to boredom.

Dante was well dressed in an understated way, tailored finely-tucked full black robes with a thin strip of white shirt at the collar, his glossy black hair swept his broad shoulders and framed a deeply tanned face. 

The students were arraigned in pairs for tests of skill – a competition based on standing grades, Dante said, so he could sure of their capabilities. Each student had to protect themselves with a combination of charms, and the other student would try to breach them. No curses, only charms. The contests went down almost as expected, and those that did not were played again. Ron clearly beat Seamus a second time and – along with Neville, Draco and Millicent – was asked to try another round against a student graded further above them. Ron was paired with Parvati and, as soon as she indicated she had set up her personal wards, Ron instantly hexed her. She clearly couldn't respond. Harry was positive it was the same hex Hermione had used on Ron, and her surprised face suggested he was right. Hermione certainly looked surprised. He tried to remember the mnemonic about the difference between charm and hex and curse, but he couldn't, and then Ron and Draco were being called up again. Draco was paired with Cho, who'd been top of Charms all this year (of course she had repeated 6th year and had an advantage, as Ron and the girls were constantly consoling Hermione), and Ron with Terry Boot. Harry's attention was very divided – Draco seemed to be out to prove something in a class he usually treated with contempt, but Ron had never been at this level. The sudden thought that Ron might be benefiting from the bond with Hermione shocked Harry enough to focus on that pair. 

On agreeing their protective charms were in place, Dante indicated the students should begin. Ron raised his wand more quickly than Terry and said "_caligo_" in an efficiently crisp voice – Harry didn't recognize the spell or the voice. Everything seemed to dim, but he clearly heard "_expelliarmus" and then, in the stillness, it sounded like someone else said "glasses", which seemed unlikely. _

Dante called out from the back of the room, and like a wave washing through the room the normal light returned. Ron was sitting on the floor breathing heavily. Draco was standing over the huddled form of Cho Chang, who was holding her wand in pieces. It was unclear to Harry what had happened. He watched Dante move towards Draco, sharing with the boy a drawn out inscrutable look. Something about it made perfect sense to Harry, though he wouldn't have wanted to attempt an explanation. 

There was a confusing rush of voices and movements. Students left, there was an argument between Dean and Neville about something, and Justin was glaring at Draco. Ron and Hermione walked past and Ron dragged on Harry's arm. He heard him say "You coming, Harry?" but he was watching Dante help Cho to her feet, and hand her the pieces of her wand with a consoling pat on her shoulder. She stormed by them. 

"Wouldn't want to be Malfoy tomorrow," Ron said. 

Draco approached, as if in slow motion, and Dante stopped him just before reached Harry. "Draco," he said warmly, "_molto__ bene_."

The blond boy nodded and kept walking, but Harry reached out to take his passing shoulder. He pulled Draco out past Ron and Hermione waiting near the door and, without speaking, pushed him towards the nearest feasible door – a general boys' bathroom. Harry shoved him urgently across the tiled floor, at which Draco neither struggled nor protested, in the direction of the stalls. 

"Really, Potter. . ."

"Oh shut up!" Harry pushed Draco so hard against the wooden door with both hands that it rattled behind him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Do you want me to. . ."

Harry kissed him. Hard, pressing him against the wood – somewhere in the back of his mind things registered about too many doors, and maybe not standing up for a change – but he angrily, harshly, openly kissed Draco against the toilet door, and Draco let him.

An arm slid around Harry's neck and Draco pushed back, a tongue sliding into his mouth and his body dragged back firmly against the other boy. Shivers of strange unpleasant pleasure ran up and down Harry's body. The strange and wrong mirroring of bodies against doors and a tongue in his mouth seemed to rock Harry into Draco's arms, and he felt like he would fall. Leaning back for more air, feeling an arm slide down his back, he heard the light whispered "Harry" and thrust himself urgently away. 

"What was that?"

"You kissed me." Draco sounded slightly bemused but mostly smug. 

"Fuck you." Harry shoved Draco hard again, against the wooden door, which clunked and rattled. 

Draco smirked. "Is this where I say ok?"

Harry hit out at him, glancing a half-closed fist against Draco's shoulder. Without a word, Draco launched at him and they struggled haphazardly, clumsily, against each other. After a moment stretched by pinching fingers and twisting fists and arms, they both fell to the floor. 

"You bastard, that hurt," Draco said, rubbing his left wrist.

Feeling weirdly contrite Harry put out his hand and took Draco's. "You broke her wand," he said, as if it was relevant to looking at Draco's wrist. 

"I know," Draco said, somewhat hesitantly, "I expected her defense to be stronger."

"Who's Dante?" Harry said, as if that was obviously connected.

"Summer tutor," Draco said, leaning his forehead against Harry's shoulder. 

"Like him?" Harry asked hesitantly, but there was a noise, or two, behind them and they were instantly moving up and apart. 

"A junior Ravenclaw, I think. Shall I catch him?" 

"What for," Harry said. "I think Potter and Malfoy snogging in the toilets is superior information. Cho'll have it in half an hour." Malfoy gave a resigned nod, and straightened his robe with an unwrinkling charm. 

"We'd be ok with a Hufflepuff," Harry said, opening the door for them both.  

"Have you ever noticed they're all the same," Draco replied, companionably, "two parents, both wizards, average at everything, never poor, never wealthy? No wonder they don't have any interests to pursue, they never have any problems."

"Oh the trauma of being wealthy and spoilt," Harry teased, but there was an edge or something in his voice and in the look they shared. 

"Or famous and popular," Draco replied in the same vein, casually straightening the collar of Harry's green robe as they walked. Harry watched him do it without comment. The occasional student watched them pass, some blatantly, some surreptitiously.

"So what was all that about anyway, Potter?" Draco finally said as they turned in to Gryffindor tower and stopped by the door up to Lupin's rooms. "Jealous?" 

"Afraid," Harry replied. 

. 


	10. a The Gift

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com. 

Rating: This chapter R, I think, but only just.

Pairings: This chapter – elements of SS/DM, HP/DM, SS/HP, suggestions of DM/RL.

Notes: For those reading on ff.net, you should make sure you didn't miss the last chapter – the replacement chapter was overlaid on an authorial note, so, there will have been some confusion. There will be only two parts to this chapter (ie. they're longer). Thanks to all the people who begged for an update to read while they wait for _The Order of the Phoenix_. I've done my best. And, to answer the other question: I wish I could finish the series before Book 5 comes out, because I know it won't be compatible at all and I actually do like to be mostly true to canon and in character. But, though I'll be reading OotP as soon as possible, everything I've started will stay as planned. 

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Definitely – especially to tell me what works and what doesn't.

****

Pervinco V (a): The Gift 

The spectacular news on Monday morning was Cho Chang's. It wasn't about her wand, although half the weekend's gossip had been focused on what Draco Malfoy had really done to her in Charms, and the subsequent scene outside Wizarding Culture that evening when she and the other Ravenclaws had cornered Malfoy demanding an explanation and apology. Rumour was he refused, and if someone hadn't reported the situation to Binns, although no one owned up to it, things probably would have gotten much worse. 

The weekend had seen a large number of the Slytherins moving back to openly supporting Draco Malfoy. Sure he might be fucking Harry Potter – although not everyone agreed and the interested parties were denying it, in their very different ways – but he was clearly first-rate at all the more aggressive and defensive magical forms and had powerful people on his side. Rumour had it Malfoy'd be moving back to the dungeons; except of course for the rumours that had Malfoy staying in Gryffindor Tower to be closer to Harry. Both theories accepted that Sangermano was clearly a Malfoy plant, and that no one wanted to be paired up with Malfoy in that class again (unless Harry did). At another time this news would have occupied everyone for weeks, but this year it had to compete with the first weekend of Rite meetings between supplicants and their objects, and that was the real reason for Cho's dramatic news. 

Hermione certainly heard it first, being almost an honorary Ravenclaw, but she wasn't explaining. At 8am the 7th year end of the Ravenclaw table was still empty. Some of the older Ravenclaws were clearly checking the entryway to Ravenclaw Tower with expectant faces and at increasingly short intervals. Eventually, just as Padma finally said she was going to see where Parvati was, Cho came in. It was quite an entrance, flanked by the rest of the senior Ravenclaws and clad in dazzling white planes of cloth – a stiff full white robe even more remarkable against her beautifully curled black hair. Lavender was in a state of suppressed squealing, and the rest of the student body were whispering or staring in varying degrees of shock and puzzlement. Padma was already half way to her twin to get the inside details, trailed by her Lavender shadow. 

Harry saw Draco fall into close conversation with Pansy and Blaise, but felt the table's eyes on him the minute he looked that way. "So the white robes are next. . . right?" he managed to say, generally in Hermione's direction. 

She simply nodded and poured tea. It would be easier if Ron were here.

"And that means. . ?" Harry prompted.

"She's made an agreement," Neville said, shifting closer.

"She signed a contract?" 

"No, you can't – the spell only works at midsummer."

"Well, what then?" 

There was murmured confusion, and Dean started to venture a theory about Cho's broken wand until Hermione said, "Oh for heaven's sake, she only accepted one person and therefore she clearly doesn't have to go through any of the comparisons – they reached an agreement. She's just. . . cutting through the messy part." Dean looked at her blankly. "It's really very pragmatic. It's mostly over for her now, and she can get on with the N.E.W.T.s without all this distraction."

"Can she do that?"

Hermione patiently waited for someone to notice and pass her the milk before answering. "Well there's no reason why not. She can do all the other stages as fast as she likes when there's only one offer – only the contract has to wait till June." 

A chaos of Gryffindors debated who it was Cho had accepted, agreeing it must be someone pretty spectacular, for the ten minutes it took the Colin Creevey gossip service to come through. Antonin Dernier. No one knew him. Lavender came back with the additional information that Cho was wearing a necklace of pearls powerfully charmed for protection. He had given them to her yesterday in London, when they reached an agreement, but no she didn't actually know who he was. Padma's more useful contribution was almost lost as she tried to grab some food before breakfast vanished while still paying attention to the arrival of owls – the young man was half French half English, worked for the European council of wizards, and was Professor Sinistra's younger cousin.

Padma and Lavender went off gossiping about pearls and white robes and a house in Rome; Hermione went to congratulate Cho before Potions; and Harry sank his head into his arms and listened to Neville try to explain to Seamus why someone would choose a diplomat over the Canons' Chaser. He really hoped they skipped the _Supplement _tonight. Half the table was already gossiping excitedly over "Famous Duels and Trials – Get Your Collectible Cards Today", and he'd had more than enough of the Rite. 

Neville poked him in the shoulder, but the scratching and fluttering had already given it away. He wasn't surprised, just maintaining the faint hope that it was somebody else's problem. "Um, Harry?" He looked up, gave the owl trailing dark velvet green ribbons an evil look, and took the small matching pouch with a sigh. 

* * *

Snape looked up at the knock on his laboratory door. 

"Lupin," he said. "Just in time." He finished a sealing spell on the last of four leather flasks lined up on the bench. "You may take them."

"Thank you Severus," Lupin said in his even voice. "And here are the notes," he added, passing Snape a small book. "This time I have some notes from the change as well, taken by Draco. This week I hope they will be even more detailed. As you know, Draco was not well last month." 

Snape didn't comment on that. "The effects remain the same then," he said instead, "according to Mr Malfoy's notes?"

"Yes, more or less" Lupin replied. "Severus, considering everything, I think that you can drop the formalities when we talk about the boy."

"I don't see that the situation warrants. . ." Snape cut himself off in the face of Lupin's infuriating look of interest. "In any case, I am the boy's representative in the godforsaken Rite, and you are a supplicant."

"As the boy's life and soul probably hang in the balance over this 'godforsaken Rite' I would think. . ." 

Snape snatched up his wand and slammed the door shut with a spell. "Idiot Gryffindors!"

Remus smiled mildly. "Really, Severus, one would think it was past time to have given up those old rivalries. You assist me, I rely on you, can't you extend just a little trust? I'm quite sure I would have heard anyone, perhaps even smelt them. As I've said, the potion works to limit the beast's emergence in several ways, but far more of the wolf's sensory perception is with me, for more of the time. "

"Is there anything else?"

"The boy is well."

"I'm quite aware of Mr Malfoy's health."

"Of course," Snape bit his tongue. "And how is Harry," Lupin continued. "I've rarely seen him. I was hoping you might both come to tea on the weekend."

"To tea."

"Yes."

"What on earth for?"

"For tea, Severus. On Sunday? At four o'clock?"

"Even if I was remotely interested, I will be far too busy. The Weasley boy hardly compensates for the extra burdens at present."

"I am sure you will come if you can," Remus replied, as if it were completely settled to his satisfaction. "Harry and Draco would be very happy to see you, I'm sure."

"It's marvellous to see Albus has finally found an apprentice in the field of politics by tea," Snape sneered.

"No politics, Severus. I am interested in the boys' welfare."

Snape laughed in a sharp dry way. "While never mutually exclusive it's safe to say at present the things are inseparable." 

"Perhaps. Although I wonder if the Slytherin mindset doesn't see politics as the only solution as well as the only question." 

"Hanging on to a few old rivalries yourself, Lupin?"

Remus dropped his smile, then, and took up the flasks carefully, depositing them into a well-used used book bag, at which Snape looked with distaste. "It's discreet," Remus said, "I thought you'd appreciate it." When it was carefully fastened, he added, "Which reminds me, have you met the new Charms tutor?"

"So Albus gave Flitwick a tutor? Probably a good idea."

The werewolf hummed his agreement, leaning on the bench and toying with a pipette, which Snape took from him with a glare. "The young man is quite voluble on the subject of Draco. Apparently they've met before."

"Jealous, Lupin?" 

Remus laughed softly. "On the subject of Draco, though. . ."

"Which you return to with embarrassing regularity. . ."

". . . you could do me a favour, Severus." Snape continued replacing his instruments without comment. "I could use your assistance with the boy's gift."

* * *

Harry knocked on Snape's door somewhat tentatively. This scene never turned out the way he wanted it to.

"Come." Snape gave him an arch look as he slipped through the door, carrying his box and pouch. "I trust this is actually important Mr Potter?"

Harry took the usual seat. He'd had far worse welcomes from Snape, but "It wouldn't kill you to be nice to me, you know."

"A hypothesis unlikely to be tested soon. What do you want, Mr Potter? It's been a long day and there may actually be members of my own house that wish to see me." He turned to the next paper on his pile and apparently began to mark.

Harry bit back a sharp retort, which wouldn't help. "I've received gifts from two of the. . . declarations," Harry couldn't bring himself to call them supplicants. Well, not most of them, it was almost amusing with Snape and Draco, to himself of course, if also occasionally frightening.

"You don't need to inform me of that. They are private. If there is a problem you can discuss it with your representatives." Snape looked up only for an instant, and perhaps that was to wet his quill. "Who are they, by the way, as it isn't Black? I trust it's not Lupin."

"No, I. . . didn't think of Remus, although perhaps he would have been a better choice. Not that Hagrid won't. . ."

"What does Hagrid know about contracts and negotiations?"

"Well he knows about people, and honesty."

Snape finally put down the pen. "Hagrid knows nothing of honesty because he can't comprehend lying."

"Well. . . Dumbledore can do that part."

"Indeed he can. Albus and Hagrid?" Harry nodded. "You could do worse, although Albus tends to reserve his practicality for the most extreme situations."

Harry wondered quite how the conversation got to this point. "It doesn't matter anyway, as we both know you're the person I'm accepting." Snape gave him an interesting look, but he couldn't tell what it meant. "And, I expect Dumbledore knows that too," he added, and the look shifted, but not to anything Harry understood better. His eyes flicked to the box on the table. 

"And yet," Snape said, gesturing at the box as well, "you've hardly demonstrated Ms Cho's sense of urgency."

"It seemed wrong to. . ." He couldn't say that to Snape, who would sneer at it. "In any case, Cho's in a hurry about everything since she, you know, spent all that time in St Mungo's." Cutting off that train of thought, Harry opened the box from the Malkins and placed the bottle on Snape's desk. "Is it the real thing?"

Snape carefully took the bottle and turned it in the light. After a moment, he opened the stopper with the unsealing spell and inhaled, delicately, from a slight distance. Harry shifted in his seat and blinked, but he heard Snape reseal the bottle with a whisper.

"I made this," he said, somewhat roughly. "It's genuine."

Harry glanced at the script on the label. "It's my bottle but not my handwriting. It's rather foolish to label something you're not supposed to own."

"How would they have got it?"

"There is a market, although I'm not sure either why the Malkins would need such a quantity of truth potion, nor why they would choose this as their gift to you. You have no need. . ." He met Harry's eyes, "Perhaps they think you believe you have a need."

It had occurred to Harry that things would be simpler if he knew what Snape and Draco, at least, really meant and wanted. But not only was it evidently not the right thing to do, on reflection he doubted he could pull it off without being caught. 

"You sell this?" he said eventually, when Snape continued to examine him. 

"I am a Potions Master, not a gypsy peddler." Snape shoved the bottle back at Harry and wiped his hands, "I made that batch for Lucius Malfoy several years ago."

"And it's still good?" Snape gave him an irritated look and Harry added, "Of course it is." 

"You will be extremely cautious with its storage," Snape said sternly. "_Veritaserum_ is not physically harmful but a truth potion can still be dangerous."

"I know that," Harry said, and just stopped himself from insisting he wasn't stupid – an opening Snape never needed. 

"Very well," Snape said, as if it was a difficult concession. "It is against Ministry rules for you to own it, but as no one is quite sure how many rules are being adjusted right now, I suppose there's no need to forfeit it to people more foolish than yourself."

"Perhaps you should keep it?"

Snape looked at him sharply. "I have no need of it."

"I meant to keep it safe."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Snape nodded silently. He moved over to a dark cabinet on the wall. Harry watched the graceful way he walked, arms still and back straight. He heard a murmur, saw the air before the cabinet kind of ripple, and then Snape beckoned him over. 

"This," the Professor said, "can be locked to your voice."

Harry had never been this close to Snape except when, well, except those two times when they were much closer. Or, of course, sometimes when Snape was yelling at him. He could feel a warmth that might have been the other man's body, and he wondered what the robe's apparently thick black sleeve would feel like under his fingers. He ventured a look at the Professor's face. He was being watched with, not curiousity, but interest. His groin tightened and tingled as he quickly looked back the cabinet, hoping the heat in his face didn't show and trying not to wonder what Snape would do if he touched him. It was so different, and in some ways so much more strange, than with Draco, when he always knew more or less what he wanted, even if he wasn't sure if he should try and have it.

"You say the pass word touching your wand to this latch," Snape quietly. "I'll leave the room if you like."

Harry shook his head, removed his wand, and placed the bottle inside. The black cabinet door swung shut with a confident click. "Pervinco," Harry said, tapping the latch. Snape raised an eyebrow. "It came to mind," Harry explained. 

As the Professor started to move away Harry put two fingers to the man's sleeve. "There's also this," he said, proffering the small velvet pouch. 

The silver cord came free with one tug. Tipping the small gold pin into his hand, Snape gave it an astonished look. 

"It's a tiny snitch," Harry said, and then wished he hadn't. When Snape didn't comment, Harry took the pin and fastened it to his green robe. Its little wings fluttered as the fastening somehow disappeared into the fabric and the ornament slid up the cloth of his robe to his shoulder. Harry stretched out his hand and smiled as it ran along his arm and stopped to fluttered at his upturned wrist. 

Harry caught Snape's odd expression, and felt himself blush at how childish he probably seemed.

"I hardly think it needs to be locked away," Snape said.

"No, but. . ." he wished he hadn't mentioned it, but now he had to explain. "I like it. I know it's not important itself but. . ." Snape was watching him and he felt even more ridiculous.

"What seems to be the problem, then?"

"Well, I probably shouldn't wear it. Should I?" 

Snape put one long hand under Harry's wrist, and put a finger to the little toy. "It should be checked for magic, I think," the little snitch ran briefly over Snape's finger then back up Harry's arm to hum somewhere near his neck. "Any gift from a Malfoy. . ." Snape left the sentence unfinished.

The tiny fluttering hum subsided under the rush of Harry's blood as Snape continued to cradle his wrist in both hands. They felt warm and cool. Harry didn't look up. "How did you know it was from Draco?" he said instead. "There wasn't even a note."

Harry felt the snitch run a tiny trail across his neck and heard it whisper down the front of his robe out of hearing as Snape leaned down, moving one hand around to Harry's back while the other continued to support his wrist. "How did you know it was from Draco, Harry?" Snape said, and his breath brushed Harry's wrist before he pressed his mouth to the soft raised inner skin. Harry drew in a breath of wild arousal and was sure he swayed on his feet at the sight of Snape's dark hair falling over his arm as the mouth made contact once more with his wrist and then moved away. Looking up at Harry as he straightened, Snape's eyes glittered. Harry felt rather than saw a key being pressed into his palm as Snape said through his half smile, "Because Malfoys have both taste and subtlety". 

Snape was back at his desk when Harry opened his eyes. "It belongs to you," the Professor said, with apparent indifference, "you should wear it if it pleases you." 

Harry walked back toward the chair and thought with relief that he'd managed it as if his cock wasn't humming and half-hard. But when Snape picked up the next paper and the quill, Harry struggled to swallow his frustration and confusion.

"Thank you for your help," he said stiffly, pocketing the key. "Goodnight."

Snape smiled at him, then, more than the half smile, much more than the smirk, as if he'd done something surprisingly right, but Harry was too irritated to try and guess what that meant on top of everything else. 

* * *

On Wednesday in 7th year Potions, straight after lunch, Snape had rare difficulty getting the class to concentrate. Lavender Brown kept staring at Draco Malfoy in a particularly insipid way, and Draco seemed too intently focused on his workbook for the very little progress he made with it. The Slytherin girls were attempting a huddle of whispers that spanned at least six desks, and the Gryffindor boys were quarrelling and glaring, generally at either Harry Potter or Neville Longbottom. The latter seemed unlikely to ruin anything today, if only because he had been transformed into a puddle of embarrassment. 

Something had to be done.

HARRY:

Despite Snape's increasing irritation, everyone is focused on today's gifts and nobody is interested in making a minor healing potion. Pansy is preening next to me, though I don't have a clue what she got or from whom, and it looks so much more obvious because she's sitting next to Neville who keeps looking at the floor rather than the notebook.

I can hear Ron explaining in a too loud whisper to an incredulous Dean that Neville may not be anything at Potions, or Charms, or. . . but he's from a good family, has bags of money, is good at plants and, well, is a really nice bloke. That's ammunition enough and Snape's off on a tirade which is, thankfully, directed more at Ron and Dean than Neville. 

In front of me Lavender sighs, and she's staring at Draco again. The tiny snitch flutters over my heart as he glances my way. Lavender gives me a sympathetic look, as if I'm really competing with Remus and certain to lose now. It's not like I'm Draco's supplicant or anything, so even if I was to accept him, which I wouldn't because I've made a deal with Snape, then it's not. . . actually I have no idea if that means he couldn't accept Remus. Does it work that way? I mean, could he be Lupin's apprentice and still, whatever, something else, with me? The Ron and Hermione thing suggests maybe not.

Also, Remus's approach to Draco today didn't exactly scream apprentice. I thought Ron was going to swallow his tongue. Sure the gifts themselves were more tool-like than romantic, now that I think about it: a silver bowl, a long black bottle, and a knife. They did look like parts of some ritual, though I try not to listen to Dean about anything at present. It wasn't the gifts, though, but the way he gave them. No owls, no discreet letters, no private meeting, he just walked up to him in the Great Hall, in front of half the school, and gave them to him. Smiled and said – according to Lavender – Draco, these are for you, I very much hope you like them. I know Snape will never give me something publicly like that, or as if we are friends. 

I look at Draco, who's running the feather of a quill across his obscenely delicate mouth. It must have meant something. 

Snape has moved on to torturing Neville. I could have told him that Neville Longbottom is numb from receiving an elaborate display of singing owls dropping flowers that turned into golden sickles once they'd reached the floor or the table, or Dean's plate. Goyle has now given Snape some account of this and he's sneeringly asking after Neville's romantic distractions. 

He glares at me as he stalks past to his desk. 

* * *

Snape noticed Harry was wearing Draco's gift about half way through class, and it was unreasonably irritating the way he kept noticing Harry noticing it, and the way he noticed its subtle movements, pinned against the boy's chest. 

The boys gave each other a warm look as he finally allowed the class to leave, and Snape noticed Millicent Bulstrode pay particularly keen attention to the exchange, although others noticed as well. Really, Draco should know better. Better himself than Lucius, and perhaps there was more to the lapse of control. 

Snape called Malfoy back, just as he was apparently about to draw Potter aside. Parkinson and Zabini seem to hover – Draco clearly managed a better class of henchmen these days – and he waited for Draco to dismiss them.

"Yes, Professor?"

"You were unusually distracted today, Mr Malfoy," Snape began. "I'm sure I don't want to know why, but if you and Potter are going to moon over one another you can save it for Divination, when everyone will have time to take notes."

The boy seemed a little confused, and more surprisingly that slight confusion was rather obvious. It was quite possibly a performance with some purpose. . .

"Was that all, Professor Snape?" Draco said, "I have a Herbology class."

Snape felt himself stiffen, and the boy looked up at him with unguarded surprise. 

"Of course, if you need me for anything," he said quickly.

"Of course not," Snape said icily. "I merely wanted to inform you that, as your representatives, your father and I have agreed to two meetings on Saturday. Parkinson and Hartwood."

"I had a note from my father this morning," Draco said, scanning Snape's face carefully.

Snape moved to the front desk, casually, but away from the boy's curiousity. "I am proposing that the meetings be held in my rooms. You may attend me there at 10am, and your father will join us."

Draco trailed him back towards the front of the class, "I understood the first meeting was at 11?" 

"If you wish to go into the meetings unprepared. . ."

"No. I appreciate the additional time," Draco traced tentative fingers across the nearest desk, "and interest." He stepped up onto the raised platform where Snape's desk was placed and the blue silk robe swished with his raised step and then rustled back across his thighs as he put a hand on Snape's desk. "I am just concerned that Professor Lupin may need me in the morning." 

"The Professor has managed many a morning after the full moon without you Mr Malfoy, I am confident he will survive another."

"Yes," Draco said with a small smile, "but he seemed to want me there in any case."

"I will expect you at 10," Snape said, moving away. But as he passed the boy he said quietly, "Draco, the more different interests you juggle the easier it is to drop something." 

The blond head inclined slowly, as if in only cautious agreement. "And are you going to warn me that the thing I drop may be the one I can least afford to break?" Snape jerked his head back to meet Draco's eyes. "I wonder which one of you said it first," the boy added, only just loud enough for Snape to hear. 

Snape looked away, Draco retrieved his bag, and they left the room without speaking. 

The boy turned off towards the Hall and the Professor waited near the door till the door closed at the end of the corridor. 

"Detention with me at 8pm, Miss Bulstrode," Snape said distinctly.


	11. b The Gift

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com. 

Rating: This chapter R, I think, but only just.

Pairings: This chapter – elements of SS/DM, HP/DM, SS/HP, suggestions of DM/RL.

Notes: This point right here is half way through Pervinco. About which I'm more than a little pleased. This is also the longest chapter, with lots of turning points and, I hope, some explication.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Definitely – especially to tell me what works and what doesn't.

Pervinco V (b):  The Gift 

Lupin's tutorials were exhausting, and not as much fun as the students had expected. There was a seriousness to it all, casting and deflecting the same minor curse over and over again. One of the Hufflepuffs even sighed as they went in. 

"Good evening," Lupin said from the rear of the room. He crossed towards them quickly, with a rare energy and a warm smile. Ron met Harry's eye and shrugged. "This week I think we're ready for a change," the Professor continued. "It's not technically Defense Against the Dark Arts, although it can be useful." From the rear door, Professor McGonagall came in, along with the new Charms tutor, both in black but to entirely different effect. Harry looked in Draco's direction, but he was talking to Blaise as if the way Dante looked for him across the room was unimportant. 

"Professor McGonagall will be sharing her expertise with us this week. And I believe you've all met Mr Sangermano, who will be assisting." There was a smattering of applause when Dante bowed to the assembled students, and Lupin and McGonagall exchanged a wry look above his lowered head. Dante gave them all an intimate smile and Lavender had to grab Padma's hand.

"We have extra staff because this evening we're going to attempt animal transfigurations," Lupin continued. "Please collect your folio from Draco now." 

Hermione was speechless with excitement and Harry had to take her copy of the lesson as well. Draco gave him a slight smile with one arched eyebrow and Harry grinned back. Someone behind him made a gagging noise, but he didn't look. 

****

* * *

PANSY:

Ah, there's another pulled thread. I can't abide cats. And McGonagall as a cat is as unattractive as McGonagall as a human. The least they could do is ensure that teachers don't attack us.

Face is fine; hair is – Pansy ran her hands through her blond curls – better; robe is, well I probably need that restorative charm but it will do till I get to the dormitory. I wouldn't be seen dead in the Great Hall like this. 

Draco might have warned us. 

Huh. 

I don't know that I've ever seen him laugh like that. Loud and open, those perfect teeth, that girlish mouth. I wonder what Draco would do if I ever held him down and whispered across his lips, 'Draco, you have a girl's mouth'? 

Mm. It's terrible to think anyone would waste that on Eustacia. Sexless cow. It's not even a safe cover, like with Gran-ger – oh, I'd love to see that girl really lose it some time and I could be very flexible as to how as well. No, I don't think Eustacia's ever experienced a hormone. 

And who is Draco laughing for? Not Potter – although the-boy-who-drooled is certainly the comedy act of the year – Draco's far too happy to let people say it. I remember the time he had Goyle pinned against the ceiling for an hour, sweating and crying, for just hinting about him and Snape, when everyone in Slytherin suspects that. You'd just need a lobotomy to be stupid enough to mention it. Those boys are such fun, like big lumbering dogs you just can't help teasing with the same old stick.  

So. . . Dante? Gorgeous, but nothing to offer – just one of those exploitable itinerant tutors who'll be so much less in demand once he starts to go bald or get wrinkles. Lupin? There was definitely a look there. But, again, why? 

Oh, and look, that's completely torn. McGonagall's a vicious old bat.

* * *

SEAMUS:

That was wicked. 

Dean grins at me in the mirror, and heads over to the showers. Yeah, wicked. 

We're never allowed to try transformations except one tiny step at a time while McGonagall's standing right over us. You'd think the whole Animagus thing was a path to the dark side or something. I tell Neville and he's explaining why you need to register. . . Dean would have got it.

And how cool was Lupin? He's always so quiet and that was just. . . cool. 

"How funny was it when Parkinson got chased by McGonagall?" Neville's got to laugh at that. Though even as a cat Pansy's turned out pretty cute. 

The skin on my face still burns. Who'd want to be a bird anyway? I'm still trying to wash away the sting when Harry comes in. I try not to be in the bathroom with him now cause, well, yeah, but he's kind of lost since Ron went. Can't believe he'd really do it with Malfoy, though. Reckon it's a Cho rumour, she's pretty down on both of them. And boy the Ravenclaws are weird this year – really keep to themselves.

"Do you think we'll really get to use those spells in the trials?" I say, keeping an eye on him in the mirror as he comes over for a towel. "I'll never get the marks for Animagus, and it would be so cool to do something like a wolf."

"I think so," Harry says, kind of distracted, going into the shower. 

Shit, Dean's still in there. 

* * *

Harry sat in the window seat looking down on the frosty grass, sparkling in places under the torchlight. Hermione was combing back through her books, looking for tips for tomorrow. Although only a few students managed to become their selected animal, Mione didn't really accept that she couldn't do it. She hadn't actually blamed Ron, but his ginger tabby cat was pretty good, if a little thin and wobbly, and that had to sting. Harry couldn't do it either, but he knew it might take time. But even if they were only temporary animal transfiguration spells, Hermione still felt they'd been working up to this for years and she was failing. 

Harry hadn't been concentrating, anyway. First there was the distraction of Draco's hawk, the best transformation in the class – he'd even managed to fly. Sangermano had praised it highly, settling a hand on Draco's shoulder. Harry really didn't think that was an appropriate way for a teacher to look at a student. Lupin must have noticed.  

"Even better than last time," Sangermano had said, his hand on Draco. The others probably assumed they practiced before class, but Harry knew. Dante had already seen Draco toss his head back like that, dark brown lines rippling up his neck and feathering out through his hair. It was disturbing and sexy, and disturbing to find it so sexy. Harry shifted in the seat; Hermione closed another book abruptly. 

Draco's Animagus form wouldn't be a bird though, not even the sharp dark hawk. He'd be something like a white cat. Draco as a sleek cat was a strangely enticing thought, even though Harry had pretty much accepted that everything about Draco turned him on. Everything physical, anyway. The way his head tilted when he asked a question to which he actually didn't know the answer. His particular wand grip – two fingers forward, two curled back. The shift of his shoulders when he laughed.  His voice over Harry's shoulder, teasing him about the intimate attention of Zabini's slobbering puppyish wolf. 

Not that Draco actually cared, of course, it was just a parody of Harry's own jealousy. Not over Sangermano's attention, Draco didn't seem interested, but over the way Lupin made Draco laugh, and the way he pulled him back towards their quarters at the end of class, covering the awkward moment with an invitation to come for afternoon tea on Sunday. As if Draco's time already belonged to him, to keep or to share. 

The thing between Draco and Snape, Harry thought he mostly understood. They definitely wanted each other – Harry bent his forehead to the glass – perhaps they even cared about each other – more than me on both counts, a small strong inner voice insisted. Harry puffed a white breath onto the glass. But Snape would never risk it, because it was always going to be either used or crushed by Draco's father. And then there was all that circling Slytherin suspicion. Perhaps there were advantages to being a naïve Gryffindor after all – how ironic, or at least convenient. But if he knew where he stood with that, in a way, the same wasn't true of Lupin, or the annoying Dante. 

"Harry!" He turned to Hermione, who looked concerned. "You were in another world." She came to sit beside him and they watched the torches being extinguished and the surreal crystal world disappearing piece by piece. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

*** * ***

SEVERUS:

The foolishness of this meeting is not lost on me. I've rationalised it in many ways, but it comes down to the irritating fact that I was, in some way, jealous of a boy smiling at another boy. I've never been allowed to be blind to my own faults. But I'm not rash, and it's a long time since I did something so ill-advised. 

I concentrate on checking Weasley's marks. It's not necessary, but I've developed an interest in his pain and isolation – it's almost an experiment in character – and both are more visible here than in anything he'll say to me or his attempts to carry on as usual. 

Andrea Fallon, the new Granger; this should be interesting. 

"_Trite.   A-_"

Perhaps I should suggest that we kick all the Weasleys out of Gryffindor. 

Especially the girl. I've noticed her watching me, of course, and far less subtly than Bulstrode. I'm sure Potter thinks it was thoughtful, even noble, not to reject her outright. Instead it would be a mercy to put her out of her misery. As easily distracted as all the younger Weasleys, she's now utterly incompetent in class, and not only in Potions. Potter would never be interested in her anyway, however energetic and confident she strives to be, except out of desperate obligation or self-loathing. He's capable of both, of course, and of more interesting responses – certainly more interesting than the scrawny shadow of James Potter that turned up in first year.  

He knocks.

I let him wait. 

* * *

Dumbledore and Hagrid were already waiting, with tea and biscuits, when Harry entered the Headmaster's parlour. 

"Harry," Hagrid exclaimed, drawing him into a warm hug. 

It was wonderful to see him. Amongst the comfortable cushions in inappropriately combined colours, in the morning sun through the Headmaster's window, they chatted about the griffins until Dumbledore finished his tea with a significant clink. 

"Before we begin, Harry," Dumbledore began, in an even tone which made Harry unaccountably nervous, "Is there anything we need to know?"

"Uh, what about? I mean, you probably know better than me. "

"Hagrid and I will be best able to help you if we know what you want."

"Oh."

"Ginny's a lovely girl," Hagrid said warmly, "and right pretty these days, eh?" Harry felt suddenly as if this conversation was going to be much worse than the meetings. When he was obviously trying to find something to say, Hagrid slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Don't mind me Harry, I didn't mean anything. No reason to be thinking of that kinda thing, o'course." 

Harry looked somewhat desperately at Dumbledore, who must know about his arrangement with Snape, but the Headmaster didn't seem inclined to help him. Hagrid waited expectedly. Dumbledore glanced at the clock. 

"I want to accept Professor Snape." Nobody exploded. "But I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, so I thought I could meet them and say thank you – that kind of thing."

"And Mr Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked.

"I didn't want him to get into trouble – and I know, Hagrid, before you say it, he's an utter git most of the time – but he doesn't deserve, well, you know his father." 

He met the Headmaster's quiet appraising gaze, and wasn't sure how much or how little he wanted Dumbledore to know. Maybe Dumbledore could explain it all to him. He looked at Hagrid then, who was snuffling at biscuit crumbs in his beard. 

"Hagrid?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you hear? I mean to accept Professor Snape?"

"Course I did, Harry. That's all right then. We'll just be polite to the others."

"You're not going to say 'Not that greasy git' or 'But Harry he's a death eater'?"

"I reckon there's a thing or two you could learn from Professor Snape, though I reckon too you'd have a sight more fun with Ginny Weasley."

Harry nodded as if that wasn't surreal. "And the death eater thing?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore wouldn't have a death eater here." Harry took the breath that would help him find a way to mention Quirrell and Crouch, but Hagrid added, "Least not one everyone suspects already. Ain't that right Headmaster?"

"I trust Severus," Dumbledore said, but his eyes didn't leave Harry's for a long moment.

* * *

SEVERUS:

"Did you know that Millicent Bulstrode has been following you? You and Harry Potter." 

"It's not a complete shock," he says. 

Grey eyes framed by Lucius' sculpted face and Narcissa's porcelain skin, but they're Draco's own: cautious, attentive, and heated at once. So many expectations but no certainties. "She claims not to be acting under duress or instruction," I tell him. He considers it, running a hand through stiffly moulded hair, a look I haven't seen in weeks. 

"My father wouldn't choose her – she's neither stupid nor clever enough."

I can only agree. "I think she'll keep to herself for a while."

"Is that why you wanted to see me?" He knows that can't be all, but I refuse to begin something where I can't reasonably predict the outcome. "I brought you something," he adds, before I can reply, or decide what to reply, producing a flat, dark-coloured box from beneath today's round of letters and papers.

The dark-blue silk he so coolly resents brushes against my sleeve. 

*** * ***

The meeting with Hilary Malkin was, after all, more strange than traumatic.  She was, unsurprisingly, impeccably dressed, in deep crimson. She came with her mother, the famous robemaker, who politely greeted Hagrid and Dumbledore and expressed herself delighted with Harry. 

At Hagrid's suggestion, Harry had decided that he would take each of them for a walk – things to look at when it was awkward, some privacy, and reassuringly familiar surroundings. 

It was a cool, mostly clear day, although there were clouds on the horizon across the lake. Hilary was quiet, but sure of herself. She quickly established that she was not expecting Harry to really negotiate with her.

Somewhat disconcerted by not having to explain himself, Harry asked why not.

"You're Harry Potter, silly."

"Oh. Then, why. . . did somebody make you?"

A chill breeze picked up across the lake and she pulled up the hood on her gown as she laughed. "I think you're missing the significance of the 'You're Harry Potter' thing."

"You don't seem to mind if I'm not interested."

"Frankly, I'm relieved. It's not like I can compete with most of your other supplicants. But thanks for keeping me in, it's done wonders for my social capital. Even Marcus Flint asked me out."

"Flint? But he's. . . Isn't he?" She looked at him curiously. "I thought he was gay," he finished a little lamely.

"Mm, yes, I think so. But, you know, one must marry and have children. No point in reviving wizarding culture if there are no wizards to share it." She gave him a calm smile, and Harry laughed. 

"You were in Slytherin, weren't you?"

"Oh no," she laughed. "Malkins are always Ravenclaws."

At the door, Hilary stopped. "I don't think I'll go back in. I can see Mother's carriage and, well, Dumbledore – he's a frightful old bird, isn't he?"

As she turned to go Harry said, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Harry."

"Why _Veritaserum_?"

"Oh did you like it? A friend recommended it for you."

"Yes, thank you," Harry said without pause. "Which friend?"

"Narcissa, of course, she's a wiz at gifts."

* * *

Severus rose from his seat by the fire as Draco re-entered the room. 

"Father. Professor," Draco said, acknowledging each of them with a polite nod. 

After all these years he supposed they had many topics of conversation, but he still wondered what they would talk about. Coming back up the stairs he'd wondered about the possibilities for eavesdropping.

"Have a seat, Draco," Snape said, and his father expressed no objection. Draco hesitated infinitesimally before moving to the chair rather than the lounge beside the Professor. How long, exactly, since the three of them were in a room together?

"You seem thoughtful, Draco," his father said smoothly and Draco looked up quickly. With the shallowest of breaths he began the repression charm, hopefully covering it by the shift required to pass his father the envelope.

"Yes, Father. A little."

"And what are you thinking," Lucius continued, one eye on his son as he removed the parchment and unfolded it.

"She's pleasant, I suppose, but not very attractive."

"I am assuming you will not find any woman attractive, Draco." He gestured with the paper. "An apartment in Paris?" Draco nodded. "It's a strange gift, but demonstrates their commitment well enough."

"I was, thinking, Father, of the Malfoy bloodline." Draco concentrated on holding his father's eye, rolling the chanting charm in the back of his mind. "I am just as uninterested in Eustacia, but she is attractive."

Lucius nodded, refolding the paper. "It's a consideration, yes. But Mansour's connections at Beauxbatons are a more significant consideration." 

"The Parkinsons will be here shortly," he added, "you will remain non-committal."

"Of course." 

"So they are all to be encouraged in these. . . gestures of commitment?" Snape asked. 

"I am not juggling, Severus, I am waiting. We hardly need display the vulgar haste of a Miss Chang. Although it's marvelous to see you have my interests at heart." Lucius turned an angular smile from Snape to his son, who kept his mind on the charm. His father's eyes narrowed sharply, and Draco couldn't entirely repress a flinch.

"It's all quite fascinating," Snape replied. 

"Indeed," Lucius said, "I find the daily movements of the wizarding world riveting at present. Breakfast has never been so entertaining." Draco tried not to notice his father pocketing the envelope as he rose in perfectly timed anticipation of the knock at the door. 

*** * ***

Harry and Blaise Zabini started up the sloping grounds from the lake. Harry was surprised to find he'd enjoyed Blaise's company. In fact, it had been fun. Blaise's father was disturbingly focused on everything Harry did, but once they were alone, walking under grey skies which thankfully kept most of the students indoors now, it was only strange because he felt like he was meeting Zabini for the very first time. 

They'd dispensed with the 'I know you're not interested in negotiating with me' point quite early on. They'd finished bitching about Draco's attempts to be as inscrutable as possible – complete with unfortunate puns on Blaise's side – and Dante's drooling over Draco, and moved onto Snape, when it suddenly occurred to Harry that his life made more sense to Slytherins than it did to Gryffindors lately. He stopped in the path.

"Blaise?" The other boy turned and looked at him, and in that muted autumn light, in his blue robe, Harry could concede he really was quite attractive. And it scared him a little that such a thought didn't scare him any more. "Why did you send me a declaration?"

"You know, as a Slytherin, I'm not allowed to answer that." They both smiled and moved on under the trees away from the smattering of rain. 

"Ok," Harry said. "I think Draco's father asked you to, and I'd like to know why." 

"No," Blaise replied.

"Just no?"

"No, Lucius Malfoy didn't ask me to – my father did. And," he continued emphatically when Harry clearly went to protest, "that's all I know and all I need to know."

"Did your father say why?"

"You're Harry Potter."

"Huh. Were you spying on my last meeting?" Harry asked with a grin.

"Actually, I'd rather avoid the queue."

"What do you. . . who is then?" Harry began, but Blaise cut him off.

"It wasn't any hardship anyway; not like I had to fake it."

"What?" Blaise just looked at him expressively. "Oh," Harry said, and they walked on.

*** * ***

SEVERUS:

He leans with one arm along my lounge, intently watching me leaf, with unfeigned interest, through a copy of _Sol Solis Exortum_ clearly lifted from his father's library. I hear the silk of his back slip against the leather. "I greatly value this Draco," I say without looking at him, "But please do me the courtesy of abandoning the seductive poses."

"Finding me hard to resist?" he says, with excessive sweetness.

"I've had to make an effort, once or twice."

With a pleased smile he moves back towards the desk – ostensibly to collect his letters, but I feel him trying to sense what I'll allow. For the second time today I'm struck by the strangest feeling – not pity, though there's cause enough he'd rightly despise that, but a warm urgent desire not to abandon him, as part of me knows I must. 

"Draco," he draws a breath as I walk over to him, "can I trust you with a confidence?" 

He's as shocked as I would be in his place, and doesn't reply. I walk around the desk to ensure he meets my eyes – even we, Draco, cling to the oldest conventions. "Your father not only demanded that I make a declaration, but also that I did not make one to you."

He puts a hand on the desk and blinks the slow blink that's one of his few seemingly naked responses. 

I could slip my arm around him, and he too would come to me willingly, would melt against me, but all the while wondering what the price was, and what he had won. But Draco can't tell a calculated manouevre from a deeply felt response even in himself. 

"Would you have?" he asks softly. He wants me far more certainly than Potter does, for all the other boy's delectable and sharply new want. Perhaps, in his own way, Draco even cares for me, although it's not something I want to dwell on. But he will do anything I ask now if I say 'yes'. I know it. 

"No. I couldn't." And it's true, but. . . I touch his hand before he can draw away and feel him shiver – but even that I don't quite believe. No, I don't believe it enough. "We wouldn't need your father's help to destroy one another." 

He shakes his head, pulling his hand from under mine and moving away. 

"Professor?"

"Severus," I say. "When we're alone." I hope he knows what it costs me.

"Severus," he laughs somewhat bitterly. "Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps Harry should accept me – that perhaps being your saviour, however appropriately Gryffindor, is not in his best interests?"

"Which lie in being bound to Lucius Malfoy?" He whips his head back in my direction. "Let's not pretend we are discussing Potter's best interests, Draco."

"I am not my father." His voice is torn and hard. 

"No. You're not." He can't expect anything gentler from me, and he accepts it with a nod – just part of the usual frustration and entrapment. I recall him flinching under his father's eye. But the thing he can't say, as transparent as the flinch and the thing that powers it, is that he loves Lucius. And it's the love more than the fear makes him dangerous. 

*** * ***

Harry didn't have to knock on the door to Remus's rooms on Sunday afternoon. It was open. He expected to be uncomfortable, but Remus was absentmindedly hunting for something he just had to have for something he, somewhat vaguely, had to do. It was impossible not to help him look for the right book and reassure him he'd be perfectly fine for a few minutes here with Draco. 

Draco arranged chairs and ordered tea. They barely spoke, which didn't help with Harry's anxiety. No moonlight, no cryptic gifts, but he felt tensely alive around Draco, and never quite certain how he would act. Sometimes he was coolly casual, others very friendly, and then occasionally there was a flash of intimacy or wave of desire. Harry wandered off around the room, touching things absently.

One thing jolted him back to where he was. "I didn't know Remus had a penseive?" He kept his hands well away and his eyes from meeting the silvery surface but he instantly recognised it. "Not that I should know," he added, "but I think they're very expensive".

"And Lupin is very poor?" Draco said, as if it was a curiousity.

"I guess."

"Huh."

"Maybe things are better now, if he can afford a penseive. Perhaps he wants to put aside memories of the wolf." Draco seemed very silent on a topic that interested everyone else. "Does he still change? You must know."

Draco seemed to shake himself. "You should ask him. But in any case," he said, before Harry could comment, "the penseive is my gift from Remus." He looked at Harry's surprised expression. "I guess he's pretty sure I have things to forget." 

Harry looked back at the silver bowl and recognised it as the one the werewolf had given Draco. "So he made it? I wonder how?"

"Severus made the fluid, I believe."

"Severus?"

"I think so."

"Since when do you call him that?" Harry felt more indignant than he had any cause to given the amount of things he and his friends had called Snape over the years. 

"He said I could," Draco replied moving back to the table. "When we're alone."

Harry's mouth opened and shut. Twice. "So," he began, "are you. . ." Harry couldn't really think how to put the question; he wasn't even positive what it was. 

Suddenly Draco had a hand on his shoulder and Harry tried to pull away, not wanting that kind of confusion right now. "You're wearing it," Draco said, with one of those rare smiles that made Harry ache and shiver. 

The pin. "Yes," Harry said, more softly than he meant to. "I like it," he admitted.

"Oh good," Draco said, as if it really mattered to him. 

"How was your father?" Harry asked, moving to the table and changing the subject. 

Draco took a seat without answering, leaning his chin against a pale hand. Harry finally noticed the stiffly set hair, the unusually pale cheeks, and the drawn mouth. He would have asked again, but there was a knock at the door. 

* * *

The whole situation was just confusing. Snape and Draco made small talk. Eventually he said, uncomfortably, "I'm sure you have things to talk about. I should go."

"That's not how you do it, Harry," Draco said calmly, passing him a cup.

"I'm sorry?"

"You could ask how the preparations for Halloween are going, if I like my separate quarters or, in extremity, mention the weather." Snape sniffed, but it was almost something related to a laugh.

"I thought you wanted, and I quote, 'never to hear another word about Halloween'?" 

Draco glanced at Snape and Harry supposed the comment must have been private, although how anyone was supposed to know what Draco said to whom. . .

"How are the preparations for Halloween coming along, Mr Malfoy?" Snape asked.

"Brilliantly," Draco replied, though Harry knew – or at least he thought he knew – that Draco dreaded the whole thing. "My mother has been planning the Malfoy marquee for weeks. I'm sure you'll both get invitations."

The ensuing conversation by turns irritated, amused, and astonished Harry. As far as he could tell neither of the others said anything they meant. And then Remus arrived. Although that should have increased Harry's pleasure in the conversation, Remus entered into the light social banter without seeming to care about it being disingenuous, a distraction, or any of the other things it must be. Once or twice Harry caught the werewolf smiling at him across the table and almost growled. 

* * *

Draco heard the footsteps outside his door before Remus knocked. He'd spent a long time in the first few weeks memorising the sound of Remus's step. He could hear him in the corridor; in his parlour, which he always acted as if Draco shared; even, if things were very quiet, on the stairs. 

He suddenly recalled his father watching him practice the deep focus of attentive listening with Ernestine Mars. His father's eyes – his own eyes, slate blue – on his profile. Ernestine whispering at him to concentrate, with that panicked edge his tutors always had when Lucius was in the room. He slipped a little deeper, listening to his father breathe, eight feet away, wearing black, scented with sandalwood. 

Remus knocked again, more hesitantly.  Draco rolled onto his back, inhaling the darkness. He heard the werewolf outside shuffle and sigh in a rustle of cloth and skin. Draco whispered the largest candle alight, and got up to check himself in the mirror. 

* * * 

Harry sat up in bed as the sound finally resolved into something tapping at the window. 

He habitually looked for Ron, who of course wasn't there. A quick movement in the dark outside the glass drew him over. 

"Thetis."  He turned the latch and let her in. 

She had a small square package strapped to her leg. "Huh," was all he managed, till she ruffled her feathers a little crossly. "No ribbons, though," he said, crouching down to free the package, "should I feel cheated?"

As he got it free she skipped away. He reached for the owl treats he'd started to keep in a jar by the window, just in case, and she hopped back. Harry smiled to himself. Progress. She turned a bright eye to him.  

"Does he want a reply?" She flicked the treat further into her beak, sprang to the sill and leapt through the window.  "I guess not." 

An outer wrapping fell away as he pulled the binding cord, and the square expanded. 

Inside the box, carefully folded, was a pile of dark blue silk. Harry couldn't decide whether to laugh or curse him. He lifted it out, remembering Draco's sarcasm. Beneath the robe lay a card and a large metallic ring. 

The card read: "_The circle is activated by its name, _Chalybs_. _SS._" _

* * *

The door clicked open under Remus's hand, and he was almost disappointed that it did.

Draco was sitting in his bed, swathed in black sheets – Remus had certainly given him white ones. A black nightshirt revealed a large pale V of smooth skin. Remus smiled at the pose, but his pulse was running a little faster and his skin, still prickling with the just-waning moon, responded to even the movement of air as Draco placed his wand back on the night-stand. 

"Can I help you, Professor?" the boy said calmly, but Remus could still taste his grief in the air, along with something less tangible. 

"Are you all right, Draco?"

"Of course," he replied, as if the question was mildly amusing or strange. 

Lupin crossed the room, his muscles both tight and long from the change. At the window he looked out at the sliced-off moon. "Two nights after I can still feel the wolf in my limbs and my head," he said in a casually descriptive tone. "And scents are like strongly-flavoured food."

"Do you want me to write this down? I cansummon the notebook from the parlour." Lupin didn't respond, listening to the boy move across the bed. 

"No. It can wait till tomorrow." There was silence behind him, which didn't mean Draco was still where he'd been. Remus would give a lot to know exactly how much he'd been taught. By whom would also be interesting. 

"What is it, Remus?"

Now. "I can smell your pain, Draco." An owl crossed the faintly lit grounds, moving towards the north tower. "I can smell your tears."

"I don't think so."

Remus turned back to see the boy's expression, but it revealed nothing. "Even if you charm them away, even in the way you move. Your pain, your fear, the blood you had washed from your skin that day, your come in those sheets despite the charm, your rush of desire when he crosses a room."

"I did ask about the price of staying here," Draco said, after a pause. "I don't think this was mentioned."

"You sound like him too. Which," Remus added, raising a hand as Draco lifted his chin angrily, "is not an insult."

"Are you here to tell me that you get off on speculating about my desires? Or to admit that you're jealous? I've seen you look at me."

"And you work hard at ensuring that I will." Lupin ran his eyes pointedly over the black shirt, hanging loosely from Draco's shoulders, across his chest, and falling around his strong white thighs. Without comment, Draco leant against the bedpost and crossed his arms, dragging the hem a little higher and draping the fabric across his groin.  

"No," Remus continued, looking out at the cold night and carefully riding out the buzzing of his skin and his fingers, the prickling of his scalp and neck and prick. "I'm here to tell you that I am your friend," Draco made a dismissive noise behind him, "whether you believe in or want me as a friend. You want my protection, and I want to give it to you."

"And the price for that is. . ?" Draco was closer to him now, and Remus almost unconsciously checked the positioning of his wand against his hip. 

"You let me help you. You talk to me. You let me in. You stop letting your father torture you. You stop torturing yourself over Snape. You give Dumbledore what he needs to know. You let Harry be." He turned back to the boy's shuttered immobile face. "You give up all the daft struggles to be things you are not, and let yourself be happy."

Draco threw back his head and laughed, "Oh, only that." He took a step towards the bed, and then back again. "Lucius is right, you are insane."

Remus smiled and, as he moved to the door, placed a hand on Draco's warm shoulder, the shirt shifting against his skin. "Well, I thought of it as opening negotiations more than a final offer."

He left Draco standing in the middle of the room, one hand on the bedpost, as if waiting. 


	12. a Temperance

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com. 

Rating: R.

Pairings: This section – elements of SS/HP, HP/DM, SS/DM, HG/RW.

Notes: Now, after "The Gift", this one was so easy. . . hmm, maybe too easy. Anyway, here is the first part of "Temperance".

Spoilers: Various up to the end of Book IV. No OotP whatsoever.

Dedication: Though she's not around to see it – Chapter VI is for switchknife, who made me believe it was actually good 

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and various corporate tentacles.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Definitely – especially to tell me what works and what doesn't.

Pervinco VI (a):  Temperance 

A hand ran down the length of Harry's spine and he leant back into the unfamiliar touch. As it slid across his naked hip and around his waist another hand cupped his jaw, tipping his head back, and there was a mouth above the cold iron collar at his throat, hot and wet and forceful. He groaned back into the embrace, the plane of the man's chest pressed into and up along his back, and he broke out in a sheen of sweat. 

Harry's eyes sprang open in the dark and there were fingers at his mouth, soft hair and warm flesh against his buttocks shooting embarrassment and joy across his skin, and a hand circling his cock.  With a gasp he thrust forward as a mouth breathed at his ear a soft barely-heard "Harry". One then two fingers thrust into his mouth and he moaned around them as the hand tightened on his already hard cock gliding firmly back towards his body. Harry cried out when the fingers slipped wetly from his lips, just as a hand hooked under his knee, lifting his leg and bringing the soft hard pressure up into the cleft of his arse. "Harry" the whisper said again, with a firm stroke on his aching cock, and a hot flush gathered somewhere in his lower stomach. A hand curled around his balls, squeezing gently, and he exploded in a bright arch of pleasure. 

Harry's eyes sprang open in the dark and he inhaled sharply. The sheets were twisted around him; his skin hot and wet sticking to his pyjamas. His cock throbbed faintly, although somewhere behind and below his stomach was a heavy emptiness.

* * *

The Ravenclaw boys went skittering off along the corridor in horror. He was going to have to speak to Sinistra about them. He appreciated her more forceful style as Head of Ravenclaw, but the competitive urge had a few less than desirable effects.

Snape swept back along the parapets in the direction of the Astronomy Tower. For some reason known only to gods and 5th year there were always students who thought it a discreet location for secret rendezvous. Consequently, on a sleepless night it was always a source of distraction – dare he hope for a mortified Gryffindor who would try to protect his love by facing the evil Potions Master alone. Imbeciles. It was nothing but merciful to disabuse them of their affection for the predictably romantic.  

After the last few nights they should certainly have learned to stay away, but there was apparently no degree of intellect which overruled particular adolescent hormonal accumulations. Snape dragged himself to a halt, spinning his mind one more time over the things he should and shouldn't have done. Was it too far beyond the limits of propriety already to discuss with Albus? Merlin knew the old bastard wouldn't be surprised, but he would be condescending, and sorry. It was too much to be borne.

He'd never slept with or, lets make it clear, fucked a student, and he wasn't going to start now. Granted they were a pathetic lot in general and there'd never been much motivation. Before. Dragging in a deep breath of night air he watched a grey owl launch itself from the owlery. Tower first, not that he was quite in the mood now but he had obligations. Perhaps he'd even leave the owlery to Filch. ****

It was almost as if he felt Potter before he saw him – around the next turret, he thought, and there he was. Not attempting to hide; not even the damned cloak. It was infuriating.

* * *

After a few minutes, Harry couldn't stand it any more.

"I know you're there," he said.

Snape moved out of the shadows. "Waiting on a lover, Mr Potter? I hope he wasn't a Ravenclaw 6th, because several of them are currently trying to make it back to their dormitory before 3am under threat of moving in with Mr Weasley." 

Harry turned to face him. "I received your gift." 

"And were clearly very impressed."

"What am I supposed to do, look it up?"

"You're annoyed because you didn't know what it was?" There was an actual question in his voice which soon dipped into a sneer. "How childish." 

"Perhaps if all you can see in this is new opportunities to humiliate me you should never have sent the declaration. I thought we were. . ." Snape suddenly had a hard grip on his arm, glaring at him to be silent. Harry shook him off in exasperation.

"You didn't think that. . . that under the circumstances the gift you give me ought to be public? So at least it looks like there's some reason I should choose you." 

"No, I didn't think that. I don't necessarily want people to be aware that you have it, and perhaps less that I had it to give to you." 

"So it's highly secret and yet I'm meant to guess what it is, or am I actually meant to do homework in order to be ignored by you most effectively?" Snape's glower seemed to darken. "I am, aren't I? Has it ever occurred to you that when it comes to this I am not your student?"

"Not for an instant."

"Right. But Draco can call you by your first name, and gets a really personal and public gift that you helped with. Is it that you assume I'm an idiot so it doesn't matter what you do, or that you just enjoy making me look like one." Snape seemed genuinely non-plussed now and it only made Harry angrier. "Forget it. Stupid question," he snapped, turning his back on the Professor, shocked that he'd said that, and perhaps even more shocked that he thought it.  

"Are you saying this matters?" Snape said from behind him.

Harry's attempt to actually answer that question stuck in his throat. "You're supposed to be at least pretending," he said eventually, and if Snape was still concerned about who was listening he didn't share it, "that you like or want me. We're supposed to be playing the game." 

He heard and felt Snape move up behind him, close enough that their robes touched. "What do you want?" he said in a voice that might even have been puzzled.

There should have been a torturous moment of self-consciousness, or a great epiphany of some kind, but there wasn't. Harry turned and kissed him. He put both hands on Snape's chest – on thick black tucked linen – and kissed him. He put his mouth to Snape's, which didn't move away, and kissed him carefully, deliberately, slowly. As his right hand, seemingly of its own accord, slid around the fitted bodice of Snape's robe to his back, the man's mouth opened against Harry's. Harry's tongue traced the inner surface of Snape's lower lip, tentatively, and the Professor abruptly pulled away. Harry's hands fell into the space between them, and Snape looked at them and then at him. 

"You have no sense of discretion, Mr Potter," Snape said quietly, and turned and swept away. Harry watched him go with rising bitterness until, at the stairwell, the same stairwell in fact, Snape glanced back at him, and in that slow moment Harry thought he seemed disconcerted, or perhaps even alarmed.  

* * * 

Thetis had arrived with a note before Harry had returned to his room. 

_Mr__ Potter_

_The _Chalybs_ protects against mental domination, from suggestion through to Imperius reputedly, though individual effects may vary. It reportedly also enhances spells of that type cast by the wearer and, although I consider the evidence for this claim dubious, that is the reason for its disrepute. It will resize and reshape on contact and may be trained to some degree. I trust that is all the information you require._

_SS.___

He looked at the box, now lined with the blue silk, framing the black ring.

* * * 

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_Thank you for the gift. _

_I am sure you know how much I appreciate it, given my circumstances. I didn't even know such a thing existed. I suppose if I say I wish you'd told me about it before that will seem ungrateful and after so many years I guess I know there will be a reason you didn't. _

_And that does seem ungrateful and I should just screw this up and start again but I'm so sick of the evasion, lies, and confusion. Although I guess probably the confusion's all mine.  _

_I wish there was less misunderstanding – although, again, I suppose you understand me better than I'd like and it's just me that has no idea what anyone really wants or means. _

_I know you'll tell me that's self-pity or my naivety. Probably it is. It's just that I thought we were supposed to be helping each other._

_In case it got sort of lost, thank you. I'll try it out and if I end up possessed by some evil spirit of black metal circles we'll all know who to blame. _

_Yours truly,_

_Harry Potter_

Severus rolled his eyes and refolded the note, slipping it into a drawer. 

"Ridiculous boy."

There was a knock at the internal door.

"Come."

Ron opened the door slightly and slipped through. "I've finished the sorting, Professor. For some reason you're missing Dwight's Spectral Acacia, which is why the rest were out of order."

Snape nodded. "Thank you, Mr Weasley, you should finish now." He looked up at the clock. _Stop work an hour ago. As the boy went out he said, "And as the 1st year Slytherins are currently scared to make a noise in the dungeons, tomorrow will be a Weasley-free day. I don't want to see you in these rooms between breakfast and midnight." _

Ron looked back at him skeptically. 

"We can't let them become complacent in their terror, can we?" 

Shaking his head Ron left the room, saying "Goodnight, Professor."   

The damned bird was still on his desk; preening, but evidently waiting on a reply. Traitor.

* * * 

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_It will not possess you, as you almost certainly know. While after enough years of teaching the extent of general idiocy ceases to surprise at all, I have usually thought better of you, at least in recent years. _

_Use your wand and the command. It should shape itself however you want to wear it. I have not tested it myself as the object must be purified extensively between owners, however as I did this myself I will warrant it is safe to use. Unless of course you find the word of a known Death Eater for some reason questionable, in which case you should certainly forbear from wearing the thing.  _

_It is not entirely unreasonable that you would prefer more direct representation of people's motives and interests, but it certainly is naïve of you to expect it. As it is naïve of you to expect that I will compete with Draco Malfoy for your attentions or allow myself to be positioned as if I am. _

_Sincerely,_

_Severus__ Snape_

Harry ran his finger along the engraved circle. It felt warm rather than metallically cool. The symbols were, he thought, maybe Egyptian, but that was probably totally wrong – just a sense he had from Bill's photographs and rubbings. Wavy lines in a square, decorated eye, vertical bars curved at the bottom, a snake, something that looked a lot like a foot, and so on. Drawing a deep breath he put his wand to the metal. 

God, he wasn't even sure how to pronounce it.

"Chalybs."

* * * 

_Professor Snape_

_You might have mentioned that it would hum and glow, though it's stopped now, and it sort of tickles. Perhaps you didn't know. It does. It feels like a cross between warm metal and a live snake._

_I've made it fit my neck, my wrist, my finger, and my ankle. If reshape is different to resize, perhaps it can be made to look less scary? Just a thought. I can't imagine what people will say, it's not like anyone could miss it, except perhaps the ankle._

_As far as I can tell I am not insane or possessed by anything that doesn't usually possess me._

_Am still curious how it can be trained. Is it sentient? I sincerely hope not. _

_I can't imagine how you think I position you as competing with Malfoy. Draco confuses me more than anything else. The "gay" thing, if that's how to say it, and I know you're sneering at me, has been confusing. That's not a strong enough word by half. And Draco is Draco, you know what I mean, and he says he's interested in me. Sometimes – not that he's ever actually said it, actually. While you never_

_Ok, perhaps I can see why it looks like I'm choosing between you, but it feels nothing like that. I didn't go to you because I needed to be protected from Draco, or from being confused. I did it because I trust you, and I know you trust me. Maybe you don't like me, the "resident celebrity" and all, but you know you can trust me._

_I will try to make it clear there is no competition. It's strange to say it, scary to say it, but I hope you can do the same. It's even stranger to have put that in writing. I'll just go and humiliate myself now to save you the bother.   _

_Yours,_

_Harry_

* * * 

_Come to my rooms. The bird needs to rest._

_SS._

tbc (soonish, I hope)


	13. b Temperance

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com. 

Rating: R.

Pairings: This section – pretty much SS/HP.

Notes: Second part of "Temperance". If anyone notes the time discontinuity, blame Cal – well no blame me, I had too much going on in too short a time and she pointed it out. The revised version @ skyehawke, for those of you reading the drafts on ff.net, has Snape sending the Ravenclaws back to their dorm by midnight. Which probably none of you care about at all, but obviously I do. This update is a little shorter, because, um, focused. 

Spoilers: Various up to the end of Book IV. No OotP whatsoever.

Dedication: Though she's not around to see it – Chapter VI is for switchknife, who made me believe it was actually good. 

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and various corporate tentacles.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Please, it's just plain encouraging. I'm especially grateful to people who give me some direction as to what works and what doesn't.

****

Pervinco VI (b): Temperance 

Snape opened the door as he felt the fresh ward tingle in the corridor. He sensed the slight movement of air past him and almost thought he could smell something like Harry Potter. He mocked himself internally as he closed the door. Fanciful. He looked at his hand on the door as he locked it – locked he and Harry Potter inside his rooms at 3am in the morning. Idiot. His hand lingered at the door for a moment. He heard Potter moving in the room. Breathe and set the wards.

As Severus****turned Harry's head appeared above the cloak. "Hi," he said.

That was ridiculous. Snape strode with a scowl towards the fireplace. "Now that we've enacted a range of feeble romantic clichés, what is it that you want?" He raised the fire with a command and turned to the cabinet to pour himself a drink. He would not offer any to the boy. Everything was already bad enough.

"I. . . you asked me to come," Harry said warily behind him.

"You keep saying you want some kind of explanation – so, of what, exactly?" Snape turned from the fire with a smirk that he quickly had to swallow.

The colour was entirely wrong and the fabric was ridiculous on him, the loose limbs of an adolescent draped in something meant for trained poise, but it was ridiculously erotic. Not just Harry Potter in a costume so obviously designed for sexual display; not just his beautiful self-consciousness about wearing it – one arm slid awkwardly across his abdomen as he realised he was being looked at; but it mirrored the contradictions of the boy himself. Vulnerability and power, naïveté and experience, foolishness and a singular wisdom, the blue silk robe and the metal circle lying flush against the bottom of the boy's neck, maybe also Potter's outrageous gall in being here and his shock that he was. 

"Draco was right, it's hideous isn't it?" Harry said, crossing his arms over his waist. When Snape didn't reply the blush deepened a little and he shuffled on his feet. "Any chance of moving on to the white one before breakfast?"

After a moment in which Severus, for once, really wasn't sure what he was about to do, he said, "Do you want a drink?" Which was inadvisable, but not the worst thing he could have said. 

Harry shook his head but then, as Snape gestured for him to come and take a seat – gestured to the lounge beside him, clearly indicating Harry should sit there – he blurted out a panicked "Yes, okay."

Severus didn't watch Harry as he came across the room and sat down. He very slowly poured a small glass of red wine. "So, what is it you think I need to tell you, Mr Potter," he said quietly. He was careful, when returning, to only obliquely look at the boy. 

"You know you're right," Harry said after a moment, "I'm not sure. But all of this," Harry gestured vaguely, encompassing everything rather than merely Snape's rooms, "is confusing enough without people refusing to say what they. . . what they really want." 

"Has it ever occurred to you," Severus paused to reconsider, but went on, "Harry," he let the emphasis drift and felt a slight movement in the blue thigh beside him, "that perhaps no one is so sure of what they really want?"

"Well, no one else seems to be as confused." Harry put the glass down without apparently having touched it, and Severus looked at him directly. The boy looked tired. Running a hand through his hair in a motion Severus already recognised, Harry smiled a little tentatively. "You know, sometimes it's easy to laugh at the idea that this is all some kind of dark plot, but someone just trying to kill you" – that apologetic smile, Snape thought, was horribly unsuited to someone able to make that comparison – "is certainly a lot simpler."

Snape pondered that in his whiskey glass. Really, it was time to get the boy out of here and go to bed. "If you ask me a question I will endeavour to answer it."

"But no guarantees of course," Harry said lightly. 

Snape didn't contradict him. 

Harry took up his glass and drained it too quickly. 

* * * 

Snape had pointedly not offered Harry any more wine. He hadn't indicated that he wanted him to leave, though Harry had so far not managed to phrase a question he could stand to hear himself ask – it really had been easier in writing and from a distance – there hadn't been any further gestures of hospitality either. They just sat there, Harry fermenting embarrassment and Snape sipping his drink. Harry wished he could manufacture some real outrage at that but instead, forcing back some kind of lump in his throat, he rather feebly said, "Is Draco in love with you? 

The calm progress of Snape's glass hesitated. "You need to ask Mr Malfoy that."

"Hah. He says less than you – or rather he says a lot more, but almost all of it is lies."

"Perhaps this is a conversation you actually want to have with him."

"No."

Only a foot or so away from him, Harry noticed Snape's shirt slip out through the unbuttoned collar of his robe and pull back in again as he moved his arm. He flushed as his cock clearly twitched, and told himself a little frantically that Snape couldn't tell. Not all of him was convinced. But, why had he been asked here? Surely Snape would kiss him, touch him? Of course, maybe he would send him away embarrassed and horny instead, but right now Harry couldn't help being slightly thrilled by the anticipation and by, he laughed at himself, glimpses of Snape's shirt.

"No," Harry said again. "Are you in love with Draco?"

Snape seemed genuinely surprised. "I can't imagine ever fancying myself 'in love' with anyone. It reeks of banal sentimentality, and is too often a fool's excuse for recklessness."

"I have no idea, you know, if that's an answer."

"It's a no, Mr Potter," Snape replied emphatically.

"A qualified no," Harry ventured.

Snape swallowed a glass of whatever it was he was drinking, and said "And are you in love with Draco Malfoy?"

Harry almost laughed, but held it back. "I don't think so."

"Now that, Mr Potter, is a qualified no."

Harry laughed abruptly and felt the circle shift against his skin. He put a hand to it, just above the open neck of the embarrassing robe, running a finger between the strange metal and his skin – maybe the ring was better, this form was so public, and invasive. 

He saw Snape move before he felt his hand. Snape ran a finger along the flattened surface of the circle – it shifted, not rigid as metal should be, and yet hard to the touch. 

"It feels rather strange," Harry managed to say, but his heart was already beating rapidly as Snape ran one and then several fingers along the curve and crest of the circle against Harry's neck.

"The circle?" Snape said, softly, flattening his whole hand across it, in a caress that covered Harry's skin as much as the Chalybs. "There are some interesting books on it, if you care to look." 

"No, I meant you touching me," Harry said. Snape's hand lifted away, and Harry caught it with his own. "Touch me some more."

In the briefest pause Harry's was intensely aware of avoiding Snape's gaze, and then Snape wrapped the hand around Harry's neck and pulled him closer, kissing softly at his mouth and face. The softness was shocking and thrilling, he hadn't expected. . . A long hand drew his glasses away and the slight loss of focus seemed to fit the situation perfectly. Snape ran the hand across Harry's neck and then, pressing more firmly, across his chest, curving round a pectoral muscle and resting a thumb across his nipple, which peaked under the slippery cloth. The sensation was more disorienting than the loss of his glasses, more intimate than the hand on his throat.

Harry made a noise like a sigh and slid a hand into Snape's hair. He put the other to Snape's face, guiding the man's mouth back to his own, flicking his eyes up to catch Snape looking at him with those darkly intense eyes. Embarrassment, excitement, and something hotter and brighter spread down and out through his body as Harry pressed a kiss to Snape's mouth and, when it opened slightly on an audible breath, slid his tongue across Snape's lips and, his stomach clenched, into Snape's mouth. 

A hand slid across his thigh. It was hot through the silk, which was fine enough to let him feel the added roughness at Snape's fingertips. Harry pressed closer and concentrated on sliding his tongue around Snape's. A much better kiss, some part of his mind cheered.

Then Snape's hand rucked the silk back up his naked leg and Harry threw his head back in a gasp at the sensation and the exposure. Snape's mouth descended on his throat. 

Flashes of his dream heightened the tension in his cock, now pushing against the underpants that were all he could really wear under this robe. The words 'magically heated' rattled through his brain as one of his hands started scrabbling for the fastenings at the front of Snape's robe. He bit off a nervous giggle and then flushed all over, but Snape didn't seem to notice, working the drape of the silk robe up Harry's legs and sucking and nipping fiercely at his throat above the circle which, god, merlin, whoever, felt so good. Harry lifted his hips into the pleasure and one of Snape's hands pushed him back down. 

Back back stop, Harry screamed in his mind. Not this, not now, not again. Trelawney naked, he thought desperately. Oh, not gross just funny – he fought back another giggle, swallowing it painfully, and the rush of humiliation at the idea of him giggling and blushing and humping the air was more than enough to drag him back from coming. 

"Now is not the time to start thinking," Snape whispered against the side of his face, and suddenly there was a hand helping him with the black linen robe, and another working at the buttons on Harry's shoulder. As soon as he could he put his face to the white cotton of Snape's shirt, breathing it in once more. As the outer robe was pulled away Harry, with at least a heartbeat of hesitation, undid the next button on the shirt and pressed a wet open kiss to Snape's collarbone. 

He felt Snape breathe out against the back his neck. An arm around his waist and another at his now exposed hip dragged him across the lounge and across Snape's lap. His now heavy cock, pressed against the cloth of his pants, pressed also into Snape's body. Part of him wanted to struggle for more nakedness, but the rest of him more desperately wanted to press and rub and kiss. 

Somehow the buttons on his robe were undone, and with a strange noise Snape ran a hand across his exposed stomach. Harry shivered, rocking back, and the sensation in his cock was incredible. Not Trelawney, he thought; suddenly the repression charm came to mind and he tried to begin it, but Snape's hand was on his arse under the fall of blue silk hanging from his arms, pushing him forward and up. Snape was pressing against him too, and another arm firmly brought Harry's mouth back to his. 

He kissed his lips, which were not hard, and kissed into Snape's hair, which was fine and soft. He tried to get his hands, loosely around Snape's neck and grasping his shirt, to do something more – particularly something to draw that quiet almost shocked noise from Snape again – but his skin crawled with electric sparks and his eyes wouldn't open. He ached for more friction and harder, to be somewhere else where he could just let Snape do this to him, or maybe do something else entirely. A hand ran up his back, fluttering the silk, and Harry moved slightly faster as it urged him to do. The come seeping through his pants made them wet and he wanted them off but he had to press harder. Snape tightened a hand on his arse, fisted a hand in his hair pulling his head back to growl across his neck and thrust against Harry hard. The circle spectacularly throbbed and with a sob Harry arched and came. 

The stretch of time in which Harry lay, straddled across Snape's lap and draped across his body, breathing hard and then more slowly, was one of the longest Harry could remember. He blinked his eyes and wished for his glasses so he could see what they must look like, dark blue silk hanging down his back and over Snape's legs, Harry's naked torso held against Snape's half-open shirt, his black hair pillowed on Snape's shoulder. 

The man shifted beneath him and, suddenly mortified, Harry tried to drag himself off. He expected to stumble, but didn't. His back turned to Snape he tried to close the buttons that crossed the front of his robe, but his fingers seemed clumsy. From behind him and without a word Snape fastened the ones at his shoulder and, breathing carefully, Harry closed the others as they easily fell into place. 

The fire was down to glowing coals now, he felt cold and uncomfortable.

"Let me show you where the bathroom is," Snape's voice said. 

* * * 

At the door, Snape put a hand on Harry's arm. He turned without looking up and the Professor placed a small vial in his hand. 

"My version of Pepper-Up," the Professor said. "You'll probably need it before class." 

"Thanks." Five minutes staring at himself in the mirror hadn't really helped him feel less like someone who was not Harry Potter, or less like someone who'd. . . just done what he'd done. 

Snape was clearly directing him to leave, even handing him the invisibility cloak and saying something about where Filch would be.

"I know," Harry said quietly. 

"Of course you do."

There was another awkward silence. 

"Goodbye," Harry said as he left. 

* * * 

tbc

****


	14. c Temperance

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com. 

Rating: R.

Pairings: This section – SS/HP, RW/HG.

Notes: The end of "Temperance". Next up "Great Expectations", but probably not for a while. 

Spoilers: Various up to the end of Book IV. No OotP whatsoever.

Dedication: Though she's not around to see it – Chapter VI is for switchknife, who made me believe it was actually good. 

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and various corporate tentacles.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Please, it's just plain encouraging. I'm especially grateful to people who give me some direction as to what works and what doesn't.

****

Pervinco VI (c): Temperance 

HERMIONE:

Professor Lupin is the most scholarly Defence teacher we've ever had. Not everyone appreciates the additional references, but the masses love the idea of learning about Dark Arts from a werewolf, assisted by an apprentice Death Eater. I'm not so sure about the last part, but then I'm not sure Draco is either – oh lord, I have to stop thinking about it, Harry will work it out, and it's not like I could tell him what to do if I knew myself. 

Stop dithering, Hermione, you're just excited. 

As he enters, Ron gives me what he hopes is a reassuring smile, and so I say "Hello Ron," and he feels able to come over. His happiness is palpable, but I'm already uncomfortable. I know I can't really feel the bond stretching out from him and wrapping around me, but it always seems that way. 

He wants to say something, winding himself up as he always does when it's uncomfortably about 'us' in 'that' way. I cut him off with "Ron, shh, Professor Lupin."

"Headmaster Dumbledore will be here tonight to demonstrate a particular hex. _Ausculto_ is not common, and sometimes considered to be 'Dark' – you've all read the extracts from _The Imperius Debate_?" 

There are various groans, some silences – Pansy Parkinson rolls her eyes, she's never been half as clever as her marks suggest – and just the occasional enthusiastic agreement. I'm sure it wasn't only me. Cho gives me a smile. 

"Good, let's test that reading shall we, before he arrives." In front, Harry groans, and I really should point out to him that despite the intrigue and melodrama Draco is certainly not falling behind in class, in fact he's never done better. Harry turns to sigh expressively at Ron, waiting on the usual disgusted protest at "theory", but it never comes.

* * * 

"Did you know," Dumbledore said, walking between the two rows of 7th year students, stroking his beard and singling them out one by one for twinkling attention, "that the _pervinco_ spell involves both demonstration and persuasion of your intention?" 

He gave Harry a quick, bright glance as he turned to Cho, who shone like a star in her white robe amidst everyone else's black, and blue, and green. "In fact," Dumbledore continued, "it would require some skill and practice to cast _pervinco_ for someone you didn't really want to accept." Cho blushed and looked away, and Harry figured she must really like that young man. He was glad – although she didn't much like him, Cho deserved things to work out for her. 

Dumbledore turned and walked back. "Like all Rite spells, _pervinco_ works on your will, and thus belongs to the same family as the Imperius curse." Harry was sure he glanced at Hermione as he said that, but as he stopped the Headmaster looked openly at Draco. "_Ausculto_ amplifies the power of your voice to convince, persuade, or impel, but it is famously difficult to cast," he said. "Can anyone tell me why?"

Draco looked away, Harry noticed Remus watching him, and without turning aside Dumbledore said, "Mr Weasley, I believe you've been reading in this area?" 

Numerous Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Hermione turned impressed or startled faces towards Ron. Several Gryffindorish comments about Snape circulated, but Dumbledore smiled affably, as if he hadn't just thrown the year into yet another kind of turmoil. 

After a long minute, the expectant silence drove Hermione to interject. "_Ausculto_ requires attachment to its object as well as enough independence to control them," she said. 

Dumbledore smiled his approval, "Exactly Miss Granger – in theory. Now let us attempt to practice that."

* * * 

Like all higher hexes this one required a particular kind of mental focus – it wasn't, of course, just knowing the word and having a wand. While Defence was Harry's best subject, he found some kinds of focus difficult. This spell required that you not only know your opponent but also, somehow, feel for them. He couldn't quite get it – because how could you form an attachment with someone at the same time as you were trying to bend them to your will? While Neville, Hannah and Justin were miles away from enough detachment, and Draco, Cho and Hermione couldn't manage enough "empathy", as Dumbledore put it, Harry seemed to manage neither. The whole thing was making him quite frustrated, and he wasn't the only one.

The crisis hit when Ron made Seamus drop his wand. They'd faced off, Seamus groaning because they'd been at this for an hour and Draco still corrected his wand grip, and then they'd both cast _Ausculto_. Seamus rolled his eyes and was clearly about to call out something silly, like "hop up and down on one leg," when Ron said calmly, "Drop your wand, Seamus." 

He did, and took several steps away with an appalled look on his face. 

"Well done Ron," Dumbledore said. "Can you tell us what you were thinking?"

Ron looked like he didn't want to do that at all.

"It's a difficult spell, Ron," Remus said, "and it will help the whole class if you can explain how you managed it." Ron looked at his wand, at Seamus, and then at Hermione, who stiffened slightly at Harry's side. Draco was also watching Ron intently. 

"When I was focussing," Ron said evenly, looking back to Seamus, "I thought, Seamus would always want to duel because he loves a game, and he loves to win. But right now he isn't sure what I might do, whether I'm different. So part of him really wanted to drop the wand, and when I cast the spell I knew I only had to tell him to."

Harry was more than a little impressed, but most of the Gryffindors seemed horrified. As Hermione, rigid with something Harry couldn't place, turned and walked out, Ron tried to apologise to Seamus as Dean was pulling away. Parkinson was unaccountably doubled over in laughter and Remus gave her a stern look. 

As the last cluster of students were left behind in the classroom – Harry watching Ron with the Professors and a few Slytherins and others gossiping in the corner – Harry heard Crabbe say distinctly "Can't you just see Snape cornering Potter like that?" 

Goyle chortled and said in a deep but totally un-Snape like voice, "On your knees, Potter", and then, in falsetto, "Oh Professor!"

Harry turned to them slowly, just catching Crabbe's expression as said, "Bet he gags him the rest of the time – he never could stand Potter's whiny voice." 

Breaking off a snickering laugh, Goyle pantomimed, "Oh ream me, Professor! I just can't get enough of that evil cock!" 

Draco was in front of Harry, turning him away, moments after his wand was raised. He got to the door guided, more or less, by Draco's occasional touches to his wand arm. 

"You don't want to do that," he said quietly at Harry's side. Harry wasn't so sure.

* * * 

SEVERUS:

Turning into my corridor after dinner, I'm neither as surprised nor as annoyed as I ought to be to find Harry Potter leaning against my door. 

"Subtle, Mr Potter," I growl. 

"Sorry," the boy says. "Ron wouldn't let me in."

"I should think not." I'd have him scrubbing cauldrons by hand for a month. Possibly by tongue. But given the Weasley predisposition to fun and friendship, I can't help being rather pleased. It's not quite sadism that leads to me to open the workshop door rather than the one to my office. 

Weasley is grading. There's almost a flinch in his recognition that I've brought Potter in with me. 

"I didn't think I was supposed to let anyone in," he says a bit tentatively. "No exceptions." His eyes circle the room, and I see him seeing it from his friend's point of view. There's a flush rising at his neck, and I'd be very interested to know what exactly he's embarrassed by. 

"You were right," I say brusquely. "No exceptions."

He nods, and his hand hovers over the page, uncertain whether to continue or – "The shrivelfigs are ready to be pressed," I say.

"They need about an hour more according to Weltschaung. Is he wrong?"

No, he's not, which means Weasley just indirectly corrected me. I indicate that will be fine and begin to sort through the carded seeds cabinet, not because I need any, but because I want to see him respond to Potter. There's the scratch of a pen, and I believe he's marking. Extraordinary. I select something, Aspidistra, and ask Potter to wait here.

* * * 

HARRY:

Ron continues working, even once the door is shut. 

"Ron?" He looks up at me. "He's gone."

"I don't know where he went," Ron says, looking back to the page. "He doesn't tell me things like that."

"No, I meant. . . can we talk?" I move over to the desk – there are no chairs, only a stool at the desk and another bolted to the workbench. He puts his quill down slowly.

"There's nothing to say, because I don't know why."

"Why what?"

"Why I'm suddenly so much better at everything, even than Hermione." He rests his elbows on the table, his forehead on his hands, and doesn't look at me. "I'm working as hard as I can here, Snape is looking every night, but I don't know why."

"Actually," though it seems really childish now, "I just meant can we talk – will you talk to me instead of doing that while I stand around awkwardly wondering how come all of this looks so. . . not like torture." 

We both look around the room. His robe hangs by the door – he's sitting in his Weasley jumper, the orange one with an R he really hates – and his book bag hangs next to it. Through the door behind him I can see a bed in a small room. It hits me that Ron sees Snape every night before he goes to bed. Do they eat together; share a bathroom? Surely. . . I'm looking for a bathroom, for somewhere he eats, weirdly angry at the idea, and I nearly miss him say – "I guess it isn't so bad. It's not fun, but I need to make it right."

"You didn't mean any harm, Ron."

"Which hardly makes it okay."

"You sound like Snape!" and not for the first time either, and now I know I'm jealous, because I've been noticing it for a while but not wanting to.

"Don't start, Harry, it's all I ever hear from Dean and Seamus."

"You didn't do anything to Seamus, Ron. It was a task; you passed."

"I think I could have though," he says quietly. 

And it's gone, the stupid resentment of him having rooms next to Snape, where, for Merlin's sake, he slaves away every day doing things I would hate to do for detention in the hope that someone will find a way to undo his mistake. Away from all his friends, from Hermione, who is still so angry, and always scared she has a right to be.

"I'm sorry, Ron," I say, without knowing how to explain what for. 

It doesn't seem to matter. He smiles. "Can you keep a secret, Harry?" 

"Better than you," I laugh. 

He's explaining about a marking charm he found, which corrects grammar, spelling, punctuation, the lot, and is saving for a special occasion, and I'm thinking it makes no sense that Hermione isn't all over this version of Ron, when Snape opens the door. 

* * * 

Harry walked around the room. There was nothing personal here, really, but there was a door, which Harry knew led into the bedroom, which might say more about Snape than this room did.

"What is it, Mr Potter?"

Harry turned back to look at him, pouring tea. Somehow that always seemed so inappropriate. The Headmaster drank tea, Remus drank tea, Aunt Petunia drank tea; actually, that probably. . .

"Mr Potter? I do have other demands on my time." 

Harry tried to remember how he'd decided to say it. "The Slytherins are making jokes about us" – however he'd meant to say it, that wasn't it. 

"Hardly surprising."

"Are you going to let them?"

"Are you saying you want me to punish students for embarrassing you."

"They were ridiculing you."

"And you are suddenly concerned for my reputation?"

Harry realised he – "In a sense. Maybe." Harry silently took the cup Snape offered, and sat down. Snape watched him with interest. 

"It matters what people say about you." He looked up at Snape. "Which is ironic." He managed a smirk at Snape's raised eyebrow. "I suppose it seems like your reputation is my business now. I don't usually care what Crabbe and Goyle say about me."

"What did they say, then?" 

Harry blushed. "It doesn't matter. . ."

"I believe your being here demonstrates that it does." He waited a moment while Harry shuffled through various stages of embarrassment. 

"Everyone thinks your offer to me is about sex," he said, eventually. 

"Wasn't that the idea, Mr Potter? The conceivable reason why I would choose you?" 

Harry looked up as if startled; Snape looked unpleasantly pleased with himself. He stood abruptly. "I'm sorry to have bothered you," he said, "Goodnight." 

Snape grabbed his arm before he could pass, pulling him near. "That was the idea," he said, putting a hand to Harry's waist. "And isn't it more or less correct?" 

Harry closed his eyes, and felt his heart beat in his ears. "No," he said, looking up at Snape's watchful expression. "So stop treating me like a ball of hormones on the edge of explosion." Snape crooked an eyebrow sarcastically and Harry felt enough anger to push away. "We both know you're more experienced, so stop playing with me."

"Playing with you," Snape said stiffly.

"You confuse me," Harry said in a low voice, "you make me. . . you know what you do."

Snape moved back in, close enough that their bodies were touching, and put a hand to Harry's face. "What do you think, then, Harry – do you think I should just stop playing around and take you to bed? Though you're my student, though you're young enough. . ."

Feeling hot all over and sick with something, Harry whispered, "Don't use those reasons." He didn't want to hear it. "How can it matter when we have no choice." 

"We always have choices, Harry." 

Harry leant into Snape's hand and against him. He wished Snape would stop saying his name like that, with an edge of something both rich and sharp. 

Snape bent his mouth to Harry's ear – "So, do you really want me to fuck you?" 

Harry was sure he would have fallen in shock at Snape saying or even thinking that, if there wasn't an arm around him. Was it really a question? Snape's eyes were dark, one hand on Harry's back, one on the side of his face. 

"Yes," he said, and he could have sworn Snape's eyes flinched, though every part of him was still. "No," he said then, dropping his forehead to the man's chest. 

Snape tipped his head back again. "Then what do you want?"

Harry said the first thing that came into his head – "Tell me to touch you" – and then froze, not sure what his brain thought his body meant. 

Snape shut his eyes and said, as if it hurt, "Touch me, then."

Harry looked up into Snape's pale face, angled towards him, framed by black hair lank after the day. He ran his hand down Snape's robe, blinking as he found the waistline, and then inside the open outer robe. He felt Snape's hip under his hand and, biting his lip, slid his hand across Snape's groin. There, the man's cock lay under the tips of his fingers, swollen and firm under the cloth. His eyes caught Snape's as they registered the touch, and Snape was hard for him. Which was. . . he took a sharp breath, and his own erection was tight and humming even before he felt Snape's mouth in his hair. 

Harry curled his hand around the firm length and stroked along it. "Tell me," he said, half into the woollen robe, quelling a blush with the thrill of Snape hardening further beneath his touch, "last time we. . . did you. . .?"

"Did I what?" Snape said into his hair, a hand resting on his shoulder, his hips still under Harry's gently moving hand.

"You know," he said hesitantly, "last time. . . did you. . . come?"

Snape's arm wrapped him into an embrace and he laughed, trailing his mouth across Harry's hair. "Do you play the virginal role to turn me on?" 

Harry lifted his face to Snape's, "Does it turn you on?" 

"Idiot," Snape said warmly.

"I want to know," Harry said, urgently, breathing up into Snape's mouth, pressing his own erection into Snape's hip as he brushed his hand over him. "I want to see, to feel it."

Snape began to unclasp his own robe. Harry thought, dizzily, that he should probably be getting undressed too, but when Snape pulled off his outer robe he grabbed Harry's hand and pulled it to the buttons on his trousers. 

Harry felt like he was struggling to breathe as he pulled at Snape's buttons, and his erection was painful, his underpants pressing into the swollen flesh. He had the buttons mostly undone before his fingers brushed soft tight curls. 

Snape didn't comment at Harry's gasp, but his mouth was suddenly breathing into Harry's ear as he, with what seemed like the longest pause, reached forward to tentatively touch Snape's cock. 

He'd never. . . He whispered, "I've never," and ran the inside of his fingers along the length of another man's penis. It fell heavily across his palm and wrist, softer than anything, harder than anything. He curled his fingers around the smooth middle and drew his hand up to the soft tip, just as he liked to touch himself. 

Snape made a noise, Harry pressed against him and said something – perhaps it was "thank you," maybe he said it more than once as he brushed his hand along Snape's prick – and Snape seemed to tense and draw back. For an instant he met dark eyes, which closed and opened again, and then there was a firm pressure on his shoulder. 

It took a moment Harry tried to make sense of the gesture, but then a churning weight in the base of his stomach explained it. 

He couldn't possibly, but he did, let Snape press him down to his knees. 

Above him a voice said, a little brokenly, "You wanted to see?"

It was impossible that when his eyes opened he was looking at his own hand wrapped around the end of a man's cock. It was wet and glistening. Harry swelled impossibly harder and he had to press his other hand against his own aching cock. 

He knew what should happen now, vaguely, but he couldn't possibly – and then he did. With Snape's hands in his hair and on his shoulder he leant forward and pressed his tongue to the head of Snape's cock. 

It tasted unpleasant, but the noise Snape made throbbed down into his cock. He let his lips close around the soft end of Snape's cock – Snape's dick, Snape's penis, was in his mouth – and ran over it with his tongue. It was dreadful, wonderful, his cock throbbed and pressed, and he was going to come in his clothes again here at Snape's feet.

Bitter, salty, and intense. He ran his hand lower to touch the base in a thick spray of curls. Pushing his mouth a little further down, tonguing the not entirely smooth flesh, he was not at all ready for it to push abruptly into his mouth. He jerked back but Snape's hand was there, holding him still as he pushed in, pressing his tongue down, making his throat gag, and then pulled out on the smell of hair, flesh and sweat. It came in a little faster the next few times, and the intensity of Snape's fingers curling through his hair as he sucked him was so right and so wrong. Harry felt his orgasm coming from far away and fast, and then he was clenching Snape's hip as he came. When he opened his eyes Snape was standing over him, stripping his own hand erratically along his prick. With a gasp he look up at Snape's face, catching his intense gaze as his whole face shifted. White spurts of cum fell across his hand and his robe. 

He was breathless, shocked. Goyle's screwed up face flashed through Harry's head, and his stomach twisted and rolled. As Snape turned away he dropped his eyes to the mess on his lap. Snape still had his back to him, adjusting his clothes and moving away. Again. Harry knelt there, biting down on the urge to cry or to ask for something he didn't know how to name. 

After a moment Snape was there with his wand. The now almost usual silent cleaning took place. As Harry left he met Snape met his eyes, as if looking for something, but he didn't say anything, so Harry didn't either. 

* * *

Seamus and Dean jumped up apologetically from where they'd been playing with Harry's duelling game, a gift from Blaise. Tiny figures of famous wizards waived their wands and protested at the interruption. 

"It's fine," Harry said without much interest, "I said you could." 

They insisted they were done anyway, probably awkward at being caught playing with Zabini's gift, which they'd teased him about for most of yesterday. He was probably lucky they didn't know the little snitch-pin was from Draco. 

Neville asked Harry did he want a game, but he really didn't. Padma was keen to learn though, and said she'd much rather learn from Neville. Harry looked at them, blushing and avoiding each other's eyes as they sat down and began to remove the squirming figures, which became rigid as they were put away. That was interesting. 

Though he closed the door to his room with some relief, Harry immediately felt Ron's absence. Not that he could discuss this with Ron, not before and certainly not now. And not with Hermione either – he couldn't imagine what she would say, or if he could he certainly didn't want to. 

He removed the Chalybs from his ankle first. It wasn't uncomfortable, but he couldn't sleep in it. Then his robe, which would probably never feel like it wasn't stained. But he'd asked for it, hadn't he? Crabbe's laughter floated through his head. 

There was a scratching at his window and something in Harry unclenched in relief that Snape had written to him, even if it wasn't likely to be anything reassuring it meant he knew how disoriented, how overwhelmed, Harry felt. 

But it wasn't Thetis. It was a large grey owl trailing red leather cords. Unwinding the parcel somewhat numbly he offered her something to eat and watched her as she snapped up the treats like she was starving. 

He unwrapped the square box almost routinely. Karkaroff. A crystal ball. He sat on his bed, turning it in his fingers, contemplating the irony of strangers who knew such things about him. 


	15. a Great Expectations

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com. 

Rating: This section – PG13 (series to this point is R)

Pairings: This section – elements of SS/HP, SS/DM, RW/HG.

Notes: I received lots of "why would Snape do that?" comments on the last section – and some which were far more unhappy with the lack of happiness. The story is what it is, but can I just say that it's important to remember the scene was written from Harry's point of view, it wasn't necessarily how it seemed or what it meant for Severus. And I've had many emails asking if there's any happiness in sight. Yes, there is, but not for everyone.

I'm going away next week, as well as working on other stories, so chances are there'll be no more Pervinco until at least the 24th of July. There is just a very small chance 7b might make it out before I go. I'll try to make time.

Spoilers: Various up to the end of Book IV. No OotP whatsoever.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and various corporate tentacles.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Please, it's just plain encouraging. I'm especially grateful to people who give me some direction as to what works and what doesn't.

****

Pervinco VII (a): Great Expectations 

Weekend mornings were precious – they were mornings without classes, without students, and without the breakfast-table irritations of teachers generally not looking forward to classes full of students any more than Snape but being excruciatingly polite about it. He was just reaching for the weekend edition of the _Wizarding News_ when someone knocked at his door. 

Refolding the paper carefully, and turning it over so that Fudge was not smiling at him in that self-satisfied way, Severus tried to remember a time when students were so little terrified to knock at the door of the Potion Master's rooms. No, he thought, there was no such time. The student, because only a student would not have alerted his standard wards, knocked again. In fact, Severus decided, picking up his paper again, he would just ignore them – seeing as he already had to deal with Lucius Malfoy in, he glanced at the clock, less than an hour. 

* * * 

__

Minister Cornelius Fudge escorts Elevine Vermeel on a tour of the new Centre for Wizarding Culture. Madame Vermeel, Chairwoman of the Wizarding Revival Halloween Committee, declared herself delighted with the now complete function rooms in which the Committee and the Ministry will jointly host their long expected Halloween Ball. Minister Fudge indicated that the next stage in the Centre's development would involve development of the library and museum wings of the Centre, about which he expects to make a formal announcement at the opening of the Halloween Festival. 

* * * 

When they knocked a third time, Snape was fuming over Arthur Weasley's position on importing new wizarding artefacts from America and not over the impertinent brat on the other side of the door. A knock on the internal door was, however impossible to ignore. 

Severus sighed. "Come."

Weasley was in his robes, though he didn't usually wear them in the rooms except when they ate together. 

"Sir, I thought you should know it's Draco Malfoy in the corridor."

Damn. "Thank you, Mr Weasley." 

"Sir, if I mark the Evaporation essays first would it be all right if I visited Gryffindor today? I need to see my sister."

Snape paused for a moment, for form's sake. "Very well, be back at after dinner. I'm making Wolfsbane Majora and you can assist."

"Thank you, sir." He was already at the outer door. 

"The essays, Mr Weasley?"

"Already done them, sir," Ron grinned.

The Professor waved him away, rather affably for Severus Snape. "Tell Draco to come in," he added. 

Ron paused at the doorway, and looked back at Snape. "Any message for Harry, sir?"

"Get out of here now, Weasley – I'm sure I need leeched blood for something soon."

* * *

SEVERUS:

"Good morning, Severus."

I knew I would regret that, but he might have allowed me a week before I did. But I must concede, as he enters with a pleased air, that Draco's control seems rather less desperate today than it has for a while. A change any sane mind would find suspicious. 

"Oh, coffee," he says brightly, "May I?"

I pour him coffee as he slides onto the floor near the side table on which my still unfinished breakfast sits. It's disconcerting to see him happily curled by my hearth and my chair as if he were someone else entirely.

"Lupin came to my room the other night." He doesn't look at me as he says it but I feel his observation.

I sip my coffee and do not feel that jealous twinge. "I've never noticed that you needed help with such things."

"He wants to save me," Draco says, watching me closely, "to mend me."

I offer him a muffin without any display of resentment. "And what precisely makes him think you are broken?"

He smiles, and I do not look at the contrast between the skin on his neck and the tiny furls of loose hair about his jaw. I note with some bitterness that I am pleased the stiffly moulded hair has been abandoned again. 

"I need to convince my father that I should reach an agreement with Lupin – that he's the best choice."

That is. . . "You cannot be serious, Draco." He presses his lips together as if searching for something to say. "I can't help you with that, it's impossible." 

"There must be a way, Severus," he says quietly. His cup chinks gently against the saucer. "Some way of making it seem like Remus has the power he wants, or can be used."

"It's impossible. The bonds your father will expect. . ."

"Yes, it's impossible." Draco says urgently, moving to his knees. "That's why I need your help." 

A series of sharp knocks at the outer door interrupts. And we both know it's him.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy had expressed no surprise that his son was in Snape's private rooms some half hour before he was expected, but neither Snape nor Draco had expected him to be surprised. Still, from the moment Draco left with Filius Hartwood, who Severus personally thought was not only an utter prat but a dangerously spineless young man, Severus had been waiting for the elder man to comment. 

Lucius carefully observed Snape's room and, eventually, picked up the newspaper. "I'm not sure you've ever made Mrs Bell-Robinson's social column before, Severus. Were you pleased?"

"I'm sure you're aware I never look at the thing, Lucius – but presumably you have some interest in telling me what it says."

"Apparently," Lucius said with a smile, "You've become an eligible bachelor." 

Snape snorted in as undignified way as possible. 

"She hasn't yet included your picture, but 'a certain respected Master of the Art of Potions' has been mentioned in the last two issues."

"And you presumably want to tell me why."

"Rumours have you romantically linked with two of the most admired young men in Wizarding Britain."

Snape replenished his coffee, and offered some to Lucius, who declined. 

"And really," Malfoy continued, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs, angling a knowing smile towards Severus, "I have noticed the new look. Quite the wizard-about-town these days."

"Do refrain, Lucius. I've no designs on your son."

"That's either disingenuous or pathetic, Snape."

Severus looked up with a smile of satisfaction. It was something of a feat to provoke Lucius to be rude to a peer. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really. The new Severus Snape has hardly escaped general notice. It's quite disorienting, as I told Narcissa this morning. Severus has greasy hair, tainted skin, stained fingers. . ."

"Potions is neither glamorous nor tidy. We have had this conversation before."

"Indeed. And you are skilled at potions, aren't you, presumably including those used to clean one's hair and skin, remove stains from fingers, and. . ."

"I have no designs on Draco, Malfoy, let us end the farce."

"Perhaps you should."

Severus was silent for a moment. He looked at the linocut above Lucius' head and thought about the shape of a pear. "I am not interested in this game, Lucius."

"You're a powerful man in several respects," Malfoy replied, rather neutrally. "Not the most powerful I could hope for, but useful in many ways, if there were sufficient bonds. And Draco has entered a headstrong phase at a rather unfortunate time."

"Sufficient bonds," Snape replied. 

Lucius took up his cup, examined the china pattern, and put it down again. "For a sufficient commitment, perhaps he would be best off with you."

"I don't need to remind you that I already bear a mark."

"Of course, but not of commitment to me. And we also know the mark can be. . . finessed, if never overcome." Lucius unfolded himself elegantly and walked across to the bookcase, running a finger along the volumes. "When we were boys, Severus, I knew I could trust you to the end of the earth."

"And I thought the same of you, Lucius." Malfoy turned back to look at him, with a considering gaze. "How fortunate for me," Severus continued, "that we both grew up." 

With a wry smile Lucius turned back to select a book. "Perhaps you should consider it. When you have a moment. The boy has always been rather fond of you." 

Snape took up his paper again without seeing it. 

* * * 

DRACO:

I'm already tensing for the farewell as Fleur puts a hand on my arm, and consciously relax into an interested smile. It was unreasonable to expect I might escape without something more than polite inquiries about family, work, and the weather in Paris.

"Look," she says, "It is Ron." 

Terrific. She gives me one of her polished and expectant smiles. I return it well enough and watch her wave at him excitedly.

She is attractive. Yes, attractive, not pretty or even beautiful. When she moves you feel the pull of her attraction. No one suits the courting robes like Fleur – she makes them look like works of erotic art, and although I don't care I can watch her display them, and them her, with genuine appreciation. 

The Weasel arrives with slightly less pathetic slobbering than I recall from 4th year. Nevertheless, as she enthuses and flirts he warms a little, and I can see the blush rising. Moron.

I will need to see her out and she's dragging on the minutes in which I am free. Lupin is watching the protocols of apprenticeship rather carefully this week, and I'm too well trained in protocols to buck them without a reason. 'Everything with a reason, Draco,' Father says smoothly in my head, a hand on the back of my neck, 'and a reason for everything.' 

Weasley looks my way, and I wonder what he thinks she's doing. Right now he is an index of her desirability, a demonstration to me. Does he have a clue? Living with Severus is changing him. It's interesting, yes, but if I had that chance. . .

He's bumbling on about his sister and, I think, not really paying her much attention. I can feel her annoyance. She shifts a hip in his direction, flicks out her hair with a tilt of her chin and even I feel the pull. She'd be invaluable, really, as a Malfoy wife. Our children would be spectacular. 

So what is Lucius thinking? Hartwood is an overconfident arse, with basic intellect and no taste. It's almost insulting, although the dragonhide duelling costume is beautiful, and I won't hesitate to wear it. Preferably in front of Severus, and Harry, and Lupin won't fail to respond. That thought is rather distracting, but on cue I say something polite about the absence of loved family members. I'm not sure what, really, but it was appropriate. Weasley gives me a look. 

I despise him. His safe, warm, casual life. His little dramas of this brother and that sister and embarrassing formal robes. His intimate friendships and family devotion. The girl I love and the boy I want to be.

He shakes her hand in farewell, blushing at her smile, and I put my arm around her waist, just so he can see. His look is worth it, although now I'll have minutes more of her simpering triumph. 

* * * 

__

Harry,   
I've been trying to track you down all morning with no luck at all, and Hedwig seemed at a loose end. I wish I didn't have to ask you such a gigantic favour this way. I'm sorry. It's about Ginny. I came to see her this morning, to see all of you, really, but I spent most of the time with her.   
I thought you should know she's very depressed. It's not your fault, I know. You've always made it clear that you only thought of her as a friend, but there's something really desperate about her right now, which she thinks is about you. I've written to Mum, I'm that worried, but Ginny says she has a rite meeting with you next week. Could you be really careful with her? You wouldn't do anything to hurt her on purpose I know, but could you let her get things off her chest a bit, and let her down easy. If you can stand to, it might help if you told her you're definitely gay.   
I can't help really sympathizing with her now, after everything between me and Hermione, and I don't want her to do anything she'll regret.   
Your friend,   
Ron Weasley 

* * * 

The corridor outside Dumbledore's office seemed especially cold. Harry hesitated yet again in front of the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's rooms. Even if he said he couldn't remember the password, he would have to wait around for them to come looking. He could never just go. He was Harry after all. At least he could almost guarantee that once inside he wouldn't run into Professor Snape. 

"Lemon drop," he said, somewhat dismally, and the door slid open. 

Dumbledore's parlour was lit by multiple floating candles, flickering white and gold. It was impressive, Harry thought, and it suddenly occurred to him that the Headmaster meant it to impress. 

"Harry," the old man said happily, "come in come in. Hagrid and I were just considering a warming hot chocolate." He turned to the half-giant comfortably ensconced in one of Dumbledore's armchairs, enlarged to suit him. 

"It's beautiful," Harry said, looking around to indicate the room. He met Dumbledore's amused gaze somewhere near the main windows.

"We do need to welcome our foreign guests appropriately." 

Harry nodded. "Especially when it's also a visit from another Headmaster," he added. 

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed as a silver tray bearing white china mugs floated in his direction. "Chocolate, Harry? Or would you rather a small glass of red wine?"

* * *

Harry rolls, turns, and twists around the emerald green comforter.

__

The girl flashes her dark eyes, hair snaking over her shoulder. The half-open robe is the same pale golden brown as her skin. She leans over him, lifting his hand to the last closed clasps, just below the visible curve of her breasts.

He's there, but not there.

"Harry," she says, and her voice rasps over his mind. He really should move away, because it's not like he wants. . . 

There's a sigh, a shift, a scent, and her mouth hovers above him, saying "Don't you think, Harry?". It's what she said before, earlier, while her father watched him darkly from the corner. Anna doesn't go outside. Anna has something to show you. 

He's there now, in the corner, and Harry catches Karkoroff's glittering eyes as he bares large sharp teeth in a fierce grin. 

With a gasp Harry turns to Anna, who floats naked above him now, a shadowy golden form, her hair elongated animated tendrils of darkness. 

"Your father," Harry says hoarsely. 

"I know," she replies, her teeth at his throat, her hair in his mouth and winding around his throat, her body pressing down on his chest, and he tries to turn, to call, for Dumbledore or Hagrid or Severus, but the room is a sea of black hair and gold skin and eyes and teeth.

Harry thrust himself up in the bed, sweating and on the edge of tears, his stomach rolling and his eyes on the blackness through the glass. 
    
tbc


	16. b Great Expectations

This section – PG13 (series to this point is R) – elements of SS/HP, DM/HP, RW/HG, and perhaps DM/RL.

Notes: I really shouldn't be writing this as I have SO much work to do before I leave, but here is another part of Chapter 7. It probably needs another edit, but I've been reading through the latest reviews here at ff.net and I was really thrilled by some of them. Though I hate to single people out (and my A/Ns are getting a bit over-the-top) special thanks to curious blue, Tirla, Lakoma, and xikum. 

Spoilers: Various up to the end of Book IV. No OotP whatsoever.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Please, it's just plain encouraging. I'm especially grateful to people who give me some direction as to what works and what doesn't.

****

Pervinco VII (b): Great Expectations 

RON:

I roll the box around in my pocket as I go up the stairs. 

Snape insists it will work. I wish he would tell her, but I know exactly how he will look at me if I ask him.' Of course, Mr Weasley, if facing your own mistakes is too great a burden.' I could say it's her anger that scares me, but he would only explain, probably in sarcastic detail, why that is also my mistake. I'd like to feed him filleted flubberworm. I'd like to hit him with that hex which makes you do the samba wherever you go. If it was hilarious when Fred did it to Dad, it would be screamingly funny on Snape; if possibly fatal. Or that potion that makes you say whatever you're thinking – how Snape would hate that. Was it Comnia's Urgent Reply? Looked really difficult, though; and, again, probably fatal.

I press in through the Slytherin side of the Hall as people begin sitting down to Sunday lunch. Roast beef. Slicing, pressing, desanguinating and all is hell on your appetite, but roast beef still smells delicious. And there'll be horseradish sauce. 

She's walking with Cho Chang, who catches my eye and leans to whisper in Hermione's ear. The look Hermione gives me is alarmed and frustrated. Chang gives me a condescending smile and I'm almost tempted to ask her how she likes her new wand, but I won't take ferret boy's side on anything. 

"Hermione, can I talk to you?"

* * * 

Hermione came into the Ravenclaw 7th year common room to warm welcomes. 

"Hermione!" Cho called from the corner where she always sat, warmed by the fire on one side and lit by the afternoon sunlight on the other. 

Morag smiled hello, Mandy and Lisa waved from across the room where they were playing chess, and Terry and Padma made room for her on the lounge.

"So what did Ron Weasley want this time?" 

Hermione extended her hand to show the ring, twists of silver set all around with stones. 

"Oh I like it," Padma said, bringing Hermione's hand closer to see. "It's different." 

"And you accepted it?" Cho said in astonishment. 

"I thought you were over him," Terry added. 

Hermione pulled her hand back, looking at the ring herself. "Terry, I never said that." 

Terry and Padma exchanged a look, which clearly indicated they thought she had. 

"I didn't," Hermione protested. "I've been upset, that's all."

"And a ring makes it all better?" Cho said distinctly. 

"No!" Hermione blushed a little, she'd been so happy she'd hugged him, but Ron would understand she didn't mean anything by it. "It's a combination of warding stones and spells that disrupt the bond," she continued. "At least Professor Snape thinks so, although he's not positive how to test it." 

"Anyway," she added, catching Cho's exasperated expression, "it's not that kind of gift."

"Oh Hermione," Cho sighed. Hermione couldn't help but take a little offence at the implication that she was naïve. 

"Ron is still your supplicant, isn't he?" Padma asked, more gently. 

"Yes. Oh," Hermione looked down at the ring, running her finger over hematite, garnet, diamond, and so on – a chain of dark then reddish then white stones all around her finger. A spell on each one, Ron had said, rather proudly. A lot of work, she guessed. "Well it doesn't matter," she said finally, running a determined eye over her friends. "Ron knows I haven't made any commitment."

Before anyone could comment there was a rustle of movement at the door, and they turned to see Professor Sinistra come in, smiling in reply to her students' greetings. 

"Oh Hermione," Padma said, "we forgot. There's a Ravenclaw seniors meeting now – we didn't hear about it till lunch. Can we have the study session after tea?"

Everyone was shifting around her and Hermione stood a little self-consciously.

"Ms Granger," Professor Sinistra said pleasantly, "Should I ask about re-sorting you into Ravenclaw, so you can just be here all the time?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know there was a meeting."

"Not at all, Hermione," the Astronomy professor said, putting a hand on her shoulder as they moved together towards the stairs. "It's always a pleasure to have you here."

"Can a student be re-sorted?" Mandy asked, as she and Lisa came over. 

"I don't believe so," Sinistra said with a smile.

"Oh let's find out," Lisa exclaimed. "If ever someone was mis-sorted it's Hermione."

"Or maybe Harry Potter," Mandy said with a laugh. 

On the way back to her dorm Hermione twisted the ring – malachite, ruby, moonstone – and thought Harry, and Ron, and about Sinistra's bond with her senior students. Professor McGonagall never visited, unless they'd done something terrible, which, Hermione conceded with a private sigh, was often enough in Gryffindor.

* * * 

In transfiguration on Monday, the class was trying to discern the correct conjugation for changing a spelled scroll into a ring that also bore that spell. Though Ron was really more interested in drawing little pictures of Snape being mauled by werewolves in his notebooks, it seemed much more difficult than it ought to be. He kept ending up with something that would have made Hermione laugh, if she wasn't sitting on the other side of Harry. 

A subtle pop heralded the appearance of a house elf. It had a series of colourful handkerchiefs knotted around its neck, and looked just as nervous at appearing in front of the students as the students were excited to see it. Conjugation was so dull.

"Concentrate on what you're doing. This question has been on the N.E.W.T.s for three of the last five years." McGonagall waited for at least apparent calm. "Yes, Tindy?"

There was a brief whispered exchange which left her apparently disconcerted when the elf scurried to the door. "Miss Granger, if you will come this way please?"

****

* * *

With obvious nervousness, Tindy led Hermione downstairs and towards the front of the castle. In a bright room, with a lit fire and things set for tea, they found Professor Dumbledore waiting with Percy Weasley. 

"Miss Granger," the Headmaster said warmly, "so nice to see you." He gestured to the third armchair as they stood to welcome her.

"Please forgive me for interrupting your class," Percy said in his always polite way. "I know how important 7th year is."

"Percy," Dumbledore reassured him, "we understand you come to us in the midst of urgent Ministry business."

Hermione was suddenly more alarmed than confused. "Is something the matter with Ron?" What else could bring Percy to see her urgently? 

"Quite a few things, I should say," Percy replied, rather grimly.

"Percy. . ." Dumbledore began.

"Oh, I know, I've heard it all. Ron means well, Fred and George were a bad influence, he's passionate rather than blindly self-centred. Believe me, Professor, and with every respect, I have heard it all many times." 

Dumbledore paused for a moment and then, reached forward to pat Percy companionably on the knee – at which Percy looked considerably surprised. "Well don't worry, my boy. I've found such things tend to work out in the end." Percy gave the Headmaster a slightly incredulous look. "And we are always so pleased to see an old student."

Before she had any further chance to find out what was going on, the Headmaster had cheerfully wished her goodbye, urging her to try one of those lemon tarts, which were delicious, and left.

Percy was looking at her over his glasses and when Hermione met his eyes he glanced away. 

"I want you to know, Miss Granger," he said finally, "that I respect and admire you."

Hermione only just kept hold of her cup at the horrible thought that Percy was here to declare some sort of interest in her. It was too late, wasn't it? And Percy, well. . . she looked rather desperately down at the cup's orange pattern. 

"And I heard of my brother's actions with both anger and dismay. Thus," Percy clearly steeled himself for some unpleasant duty, "I have come on behalf of my parents, who understandably wish to reduce the harm Ron has done." 

Hermione went to explain about the ring, but Percy raised a hand. "After some research," he continued, "and making use, with permission of course, of some of the Ministry's new resources, which I am currently employed in collating for the marvellous new library. . ." he looked at the girl, clearly realising he had slid off on a tangent. 

"I come to make you an offer of marriage." 

"Oh," Hermione said faintly. 

* * * 

When Hermione finally returned to the common room, feeling drained, the 7th year had begun to gather to read the Rite supplement. 

"Hermione!" Pavarti exclaimed, coming to her side. "What on earth was it?"

Hermione considered bringing out the letter from Arthur and Molly Weasley, telling them about the marriage bond that would cancel out the _declaro_ spell, showing them the lease on a flat in Oxford which they had offered for her exclusive use while studying at the University. Not that she would accept it, of course, not that they could afford it – although Percy was very insistent. She was afraid he might even be contributing, for the sake of the family, which meant Bill and Charlie would be as well. 

"It's fine," she managed to say when the small group began to become concerned. "It was only Percy Weasley, about Ron's offer for the Rite."

"Oh."

"Yes." They were clearly waiting on something more. "So, I'm tired. I think I'll go up to bed." 

"Well," Lavender said, looking at Pavarti and then at the rest of the room. 

"Oh, could we just get on with it," Dean said with annoyance. "I don't know about the rest of you but I'm sick to death of all this angst. What's happened to Gryffindor this year, anyway? Ron's in the dungeons, Harry's upstairs refusing to see anyone, except probably Malfoy, and now Hermione's crying and not talking."

"Was she crying?" Neville asked with some dismay.

"No, she wasn't," Parvati said. "Honestly Dean, you're such a pig sometimes." 

"Oh look," Lavender said, clutching the _Supplement_ more tightly. "_Our mental analyst outlines common Rite_ _anxieties _– page 13!"

* * *

Lavender saw her first, and nudged Seamus, who threw a roll at Dean and then nodded pointedly at Hermione coming through the Hall. By the time she sat down the senior Gryffindors were all looking at her. Except Harry. 

"Good morning," she said evenly. "Dean could you pass the butter?"

When attention had returned to Seamus's new gift, the latest release Firebolt 'Rite Special', and to Lavender's outrage that he wouldn't keep it off the table, Hermione said quietly to Harry, "Is everything all right?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm fine," he said.

"I'm going down to see Ron this evening, do you want to come?"

"No."

"Just no?"

"No, definitely not."

There was a cry of outrage as demonstration of the broom's aerodynamics spilt a cruet of jam on Lavender's robe. Under the furor and laughter, Hermione leant closer to Harry. 

"Are things going badly with Draco?" she whispered, putting a hand on his wrist.

"I don't want to talk, Hermione," Harry said to his barely touched plate. 

"Don't you think it might help?" she whispered a little more urgently. 

Harry stood and left, without saying anything or looking back. She watched him stride out, noticing for the first time that he was wearing plain black school robes. 

Bringing her attention back to the fuss around Seamus, Hermione caught Ginny Weasley's angry glare in her direction.

* * *

"Mr Potter," Snape growled. "If you're quite finished daydreaming we are in the middle of a Potions lesson."

Harry scowled at Snape's back as he stalked off between the desks, pausing to harangue Neville, who submitted to it with so exactly the usual combination of anxiety and embarrassment that it seemed for a moment that it must be an act.

"Lover's quarrel," he heard a low voice say from just behind him to the Slytherin side.

"Think Snape ripped the robe to shreds when Potty wouldn't put out?"

"Nah, I think he caught him blowing Malfoy in the Astronomy Tower."

Contemplating the specific combination of hexes than might have Goyle grunting on the floor covered in weeping sores, Harry noticed Draco casually slip out of his seat. Checking Snape's position quickly Draco turned a truly malicious smile on the boys behind Harry, who leapt up to stop Malfoy rushing to his rescue like he was some kind of damsel, when they were both frozen by a Snape growl.

"Malfoy, Potter, take your seats."

Harry's face flushed at the veiled snickering behind and to his left. 

"And Goyle, Crabbe, as you find so much pleasure in Potions you can join me here tonight. I believe my specimen cabinet needs a hands-on inventory. At 8pm precisely."

A collective shudder ran around the class. No one ever wanted to retrieve anything from that cupboard, where some of the specimens not only writhed but also muttered.

Harry could feel the glares boring into his back. Great, he fumed at his book, now we can move from taunting to outright violence.

As they finally moved out of the room, Snape asked Harry to wait. There were snickers and curious amused glances from both halves of the class.

When the room was completely empty, Snape looked pointedly at Harry's black serge schoolrobe. "Did you have something to tell me, Mr Potter?"

Harry looked stubbornly somewhere past Snape's left ear. "I would have mailed you tonight along with everyone else."

"Really," Snape said, with additional stiffness lacing his usually cold classroom voice.

"I won't be bothering you any more," Harry said, giving Snape one quick angry glance, "I've decided not to accept anybody at all."

Snape seemed about to say something, but when the silence drew out for several seconds Harry said, "May I go now, sir?"

* * *

The door next to Professor Snape's was slightly ajar. 

"Ron?" Hermione said, with her hand on the door. Ron pulled it open rather quickly, pulling her off balance. 

"Sorry!"

"It's okay," she laughed, and then stopped.

"You came."

"Well, I asked to come down. . ."

"But still, you came."

They stood there for a second. 

"Oh, sorry," Ron gestured with a wide sweep of his arm back into the room. "Come in."

She looked around the room and made a few comments, asked a few questions. Those were crestfly larvae, and that was the tool for removing their heads. Actually, he'd had worse tasks. She supposed this might be where she would work as Snape's apprentice, once Ron was released. That was his timer for the reduction of winter yew berries. Yeah, and that was the reduction. He quite liked the smell. Those were detention essays on the care of cauldrons, which for once he felt particularly qualified to mark.

They laughed, again, nervously. Hermione put a hand on the other pile of papers and turned them towards her. "_Force of will: the ethical question of sub-imperius curses_. Your end of term essay?"

"Yeah," Ron said, shifting on his feet. "While I was, you know, reading in the area. And, you know, being shouted at in the area" – he nodded in the direction of Snape's room.

Hermione turned to lean on the desk. "All right Ron, are you ready to talk?"

"I've been ready for ages."

"Then be quiet and listen."

Ron nodded.

"Three things. First, I'm ready to stop being angry with you, although I want to be included in the research to find out how we test the ring – we'll do this together from now on. Second, I'm not accepting any money from your family and that includes the flat. And three, we're too young to get married and I'm not going to consider it until we've been through a lot more options."

Ron sat on the stool attached to the bench. "Just give me a second." The faint sound of bubbling came from the cauldron in the corner.

"I'm really glad about number one – and I'd love you to help, although Snape can be really tetchy about things like that. He's not really open to negotiation."

"We'll talk to him together," Hermione said. 

Ron blew out a breath. "Okay, just, I warned you. And," he hesitated," about the other things. . ."

"It's not that I'm not touched, Ron. . ."

"Mione, I really don't have a clue what you're talking about. Not that I wouldn't marry you," he added with some emphasis, "but, yeah, of course we're too young."

"You don't know?"

"Should I?"

"The flat, university, the marriage bond – you know, Percy, the letter from your parents," but it was obvious he hadn't known. "Oh dear." 

* * * 

As Professor Lupin called the class to a formal halt and instructed them all to leave Hermione turned to Harry with a concerned look.

"Just leave it, Hermione," he said. "Ron can look after himself, although you probably haven't noticed."

"Give it up, Harry," Ron said, pulling himself off the floor and to Hermione's side, and putting a hand to her arm.

"Oh, look, I guess you have," Harry said, with evident bitterness. "How wonderful for you both."

"Harry," Ron began, but he was cut off by Lupin.

"Ron, Hermione, could you go on ahead? I'll talk to Harry."

Hermione called "We'll see you later" as they went out, but Harry didn't respond. 

"Harry," Remus began in his calmest voice, "I thought we agreed yesterday that you would remember this is a duelling class not a duelling competition."

Harry huffed out an annoyed breath. "I expect you better give me detention, then."

"I understood you already had detention tonight, with Professor Flitwick?"

"I can stand another hour."

"And that you've had detention every night this week."

Harry didn't reply. 

"Very well, report to me here at 10pm."

Draco came over from the wall when Harry was well out of the room. 

"I don't suppose you could help him, rather than just staying out of the line of fire?"

"I thought I was supposed to let him be."

"Draco. . ."

"What? He doesn't want my help, or anyone else's. He'll work it out himself."

"Draco Malfoy the optimist?"

"No. I've just been watching Harry Potter for a lot more years than you."

"Perhaps," Remus turned to catch Draco's smile. "Would you join me for dinner, Draco?" 

"Oh I'm sure I don't know, Professor," Draco said, sweeping the papers around him together, "is that quite proper?"

"I don't think having dinner with a werewolf is precisely on the prohibited list." 

"Very well, you can help me with my animagus application."

* * *

__

Dear Severus,

We have missed you in the staff common room these past few evenings. I hope all is well. I particularly wanted to talk with you about Harry Potter tonight, and I think it urgent enough to send a note. Feel free to owl or firetalk if you wish to, though I won't expect it.

Remus Lupin came to me this evening gravely concerned about Harry's demeanour in the Defence tutorials. Apparently he has sent two Slytherin and one Ravenclaw student to the infirmary in the past two classes, had a major argument with Dean Thomas and upset several of the Hufflepuffs. 

You will have noticed Harry's attitude this week, but perhaps you understand its cause better than I do. I have made several attempts to talk to him, but although he will confirm that he intends to withdraw from the Rite of Engagement as soon as possible, he insists that is not the problem. In fact he insists there is no problem. His classmates have no better information.

I am sure you know how concerned I must be to bring an in-house matter to you, and you will rightly suspect I do so at Albus's urging. If you can talk to Harry, will you please do so? You well know how little I approve of such a relationship, but my concern for Harry's state of mind seems more urgent. 

With thanks, 

Minerva 

tbc


	17. c Great Expectations

This section – PG13, edging towards R – SS/HP, DM/HP, RW/HG.

Notes: I've rushed this a bit to get it out, so I'll re-edit it later. Yes this is in some ways a transition chapter but no the RW/HG plot is not peripheral, it's crucial. Sorry zeynel, the last part went up weirdly, and I had to replace it (if you read VIIb when it was brand new you might want to check you saw the whole thing). From today I will have only intermittent travelling access to the internet until the 24th – so, see you all after then. 

Spoilers: Various up to the end of Book IV. No OotP whatsoever.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Please, it's just plain encouraging. I'm especially grateful to people who give me some direction as to what works and what doesn't.

****

Pervinco VII (c): Great Expectations 

Grumbling or silent students staggered through the common room, greeted by those who set charmed clocks to get to the shower first or, in Hermione's case, revise her class notes for the day. A knock at the entry from Gryffindor tower was unusual, but Neville answered without expecting to have to face Professor Snape before breakfast. The boy gave a disturbing croak that brought Pavarti to his side protectively.

Snape looked down at them both with apparent contempt. Behind him, cowering lower Gryffindors peered nervously from around the entry to the stairs.

"I wish to see Mr Potter," Snape bit out. "Bring him here. . . please."

As Neville seemed to no longer have functioning legs or vocal chords, and Pavarti was holding his hand, Hermione went. By the time she'd forced Harry down, on pain of sending him to the Headmaster to explain – she was, after all, still Head Girl – the common room was filled with its possible occupants. Neville had managed to sit down. 

"What is it?" Harry said from the door. 

Almost everyone paled at his tone, and several cowered to avoid the blast while still keeping their eyes on the show.

"As you saw fit to return my letter twice last night, I thought before resorting to more drastic measures," and Snape's lowering brow suggested that he could be very drastic if called upon, "I would directly ask you to do me the courtesy of reading this." 

With a shocked expression Harry came forward and took the extended letter, at which Snape turned on his heel and left.

"Oh my god, Harry!" Hermione said in a shocked whisper. 

Neville was still gaping and Pavarti settled an arm around his shoulder, Dean snorted from behind his hand and Seamus rocked on his heels with a happy grin. 

"So that's Snape in love, is it?" Seamus said. "Can't say I envy you, Harry," he called after him as Harry ran off down the stairs.

__

Mr Potter

I resent having been forced to this course. We are in this situation because you insisted on it, and I fail to see what gain by demonstrating this surpassing degree of immaturity. 

If you have a particular charge to lay at my door then just do so, as a good Gryffindor should. Childish sulking becomes you not at all, and in this circumstance may harm more than yourself. It is far too late to simply withdraw, and more depends on this than your pride, as I expect you to realise.

Your recent behaviour has brought more than one staff member to my door in the hope that I will ease your broken heart or some such ridiculous notion. There may be some cause for it entirely unrelated to myself and indeed the Headmaster suspects the meeting with Karkaroff. If so, you should have come to me, according to our understanding after the incident with B. 

However, if in fact you are distressed on my account, that was never my intention. I am not attempting to humiliate you, as you recently accused me of doing. I may have erred in giving your obvious desires too much leeway. I may have allowed myself to forget, in some respects, the limitations of a seventeen-year-old world view. I am fully prepared to take responsibility for such a misjudgement, but your current behaviour cannot continue. 

The Headmaster indicates you have meetings with Miss Weasley and Mr Malfoy tomorrow. You will please have the grace to attend these and act appropriately. I propose that we meet on Sunday evening and shall make the necessary arrangements. We will meet in the Headmaster's rooms at 6pm, preceding dinner. 

I would appreciate your early confirmation.

Yours truly, 

Severus

* * *

LAVENDER:

Go on, Millicent, tell me you're not simply floored. I swear – he brought a letter to Harry's room and pleaded with him to read it. 

Don't give me that look, it's true. Ask Pavarti, or even Hermione! Really.

Shove over now. 

I just hope it makes Harry less creepy. He skipped breakfast again, but he's back in the blue robes and he hasn't bit my head off today over anything. 

You know, I understand why he's not talking to Ginny Weasley, she's such a morose little thing these days, always staring at everyone who goes near her precious Harry even though he won't even look at her half the time. But, you know, yesterday he actually told me to shut the hell up? Even Hermione told him not to be so rude, and he laughed in this creepy way, and that's when he went to sit with Malfoy. 

And when I was leaving I barely even looked at them and did you see the way Draco Malfoy winked at me? You know he only does it to upset people. 

So maybe now he and Snape are back together he'll be more like the normal Harry Potter – or as normal as that gets. 

Of course Draco's just so much better looking, and I mean it makes no sense to me – Professor Snape, I mean, eww. But I was there, Millicent, I saw them looking at each other and it was absolutely definitely, you know, the real thing. I'll bet you, well, anything at all, that it'll be Harry Potter and Severus Snape on all the cards at Christmas. 

Do you think Snape even sends Christmas cards?

* * *

"And you will all remember that although this class is not being formally examined, the school expects that you leave it with more than a passing knowledge of the cultures which informed the modern wizard."

Someone to Draco's right stifled a giggle at Binns saying "the modern wizard". He sympathised, but Binns had a sense of perspective. So little really mattered as much as how it was written down afterwards. 

"Miss McGonagall now wishes to speak with you briefly, after which class is dismissed."

"Thank you Professor," McGonagall said. When Binns had drifted off she looked carefully around the class. "Mr Finnegan you will please wake Mr Thomas immediately. Mr Goyle, you will not do that in my class."

After a moment's shuffling and stretching, she continued. "The Ministry's first public function for the Rite is only eight days away, and it has come to my attention that many of you will find the expected formal trappings quite foreign. You should not be alarmed – the occasions in your life when you will be called upon to formally distinguish a Master wizard from any other, know how to traditionally outline your genealogy, or identify and use an oyster fork will be very few indeed." Draco thought such occasions probably already accounted for the majority of his life outside the school. "However, as we have undertaken to properly equip you, tutorials in traditional etiquette have been arranged. They are entirely optional, although I will admit that while an hour's consultation on outdated table manners will teach you very little, it is almost certainly more than you know now about the topic and I cannot see that it could do you any harm."

On each desk a schedule promptly appeared. Draco read: 

"_Wizarding Etiquette, with Mr Dante Sangermano (in the Staff Common Room) _

Sunday 7-8pm: social hierarchies 

__

Monday 8-9pm: dress and deportment 

__

Tuesday 8-9pm: introductions and conversation 

__

Wednesday 9-10pm: at the table 

Thursday 9-11pm: dancing

Friday: other social events (to be arranged by consultation)"

Draco looked around as the others finished. He thought Brown and Patil-number-2 might actually faint from happy anticipation. Under no circumstance would he be subjecting himself. . . Not, of course, that he needed to. Dante had certainly already taught him everything he knew about such things. 

For example, while a tutor is a subordinate, remember age, experience, and the glamour of knowledge still give him a distinct advantage over his charge. A real flair with shades of black and leather gloves will increase that advantage, as will knowing precisely how close to stand for maximum impact. Crucially, your sexual practices are not an appropriate topic of conversation with the parents of your underage lover, although skills in intelligent conversation will likely increase the occasions upon which you will be thrown together. Remember to avoid endearments, which may accidentally betray you.

"Next Friday evening," McGonagall droned on, "regardless of whether you have the tutorials, there will be a formal dinner in place of next week's class, to ensure all of you have some familiarity with such an event. You will assemble in the staff common room, at 6pm, for dinner at 7." 

If there was much else to say it was lost in the now irrepressible buzz of enthusiasm. Even the Slytherins could see both novelty and possible advantage in such a thing. McGonagall let them go. 

Walking out, Draco caught Harry looking his way. It wasn't one of those sexually curious looks, or the just as frequent anxious interrogative ones, it wasn't even 'meet me in the library I think there's a conspiracy', or the angry glare was perfecting lately, it was just a look. And Draco was curious.

* * *

__

Saturday, 24 October

Dear Severus

__

I was relieved to hear that you managed to arrange a meeting between Lupin and Draco out of turn, and relieve me of a trip to Hogwarts today, and of the noisome duty of looking at the creature and knowing his suit for my son has been in any way encouraged. 

I am nevertheless still surprised not to have heard from you directly about the other matter we discussed. It occurs to me that you may feel your needs are being met elsewhere, and a rumour about an uncharacteristic romantic gesture, if it were true, rather supports this theory. While the boy has some claims, you might at least hear my terms given that your interests are far more likely to be served by a fully trained pureblood consort. (Forgive the somewhat gauche term and do correct me as to the proper label as I am quite sure I've never been called upon to use it before.)

Narcissa specifically asks to be remembered to you, and asks if you would give us the pleasure of having you to dinner some time soon. She rightly points out that it has been a long time. Just a small family affair, we would have Draco home for the occasion. 

I anticipate your swift reply.

Yours Sincerely

Lucius N.A. Malfoy 

Snape swallowed anger and some anxiety. So much for breakfast. 

The knock at the door, bound to be Draco with a coy look to frame his explanation, didn't improve his mood at all. 

* * *

Harry entered Dumbledore's rooms in a confused state of mind. Dumbledore embraced him, saying how very pleased he was to see him after a trying week. The mood seemed to be catching and for no apparent reason Hagrid was hugging him tightly and commenting almost mournfully on how much he'd grown. 

When Ginny arrived, Dumbledore coaxed her to tea, biscuits, cakes, pumpkin juice, but she declined it all nervously. Hagrid tried to draw her into a conversation about Charlie, but she was clearly still uncomfortable when they left for the walk. 

As they walked through the castle, Ginny blushed whenever anyone saw them, but didn't volunteer a word. Harry asked about her parents and her brothers, but he couldn't recall anything she liked except Pavarti, Bill, the Cannons, and him. 

When they were well out onto the path she said, "Harry," and he stopped. 

"Ginny. . ."

"Please let me finish." 

"All right. I'm sorry."

"That's you," she said, putting a hand on his arm, "always thinking things are your fault, when really it's everyone else. I see them, all of them, asking you to do too much and be too much. I know it scares you – I'm the only one who knows you just want to be Harry."

He was a little taken aback. That was true, sometimes, even though he wasn't positive what just-Harry would be like.

"That's how I know that it's right for us to be together. Whatever anyone says." 

Harry felt a little exposed here, but he could hardly interrupt and ask her to move somewhere more discreet – could he? 

"And I know it will work out for us in the end. Even if you're not really sure, just yet, what you want."

They were still standing on the path from the castle to the lake, not going on and not going back. "What do you mean?"

"Ron told me. . . I mean, I'd heard the rumours, I just didn't believe them." When Harry went to reply she rushed on, "I know it's not Malfoy himself, because you could never care for such a horrible person, but Ron said that you're not really interested in girls."

"Oh." At her sad smile, Harry sincerely wished he could tell her what she wanted to hear. Her hand on his arm was so tender and certain. She would let him be whoever he wanted to be, and even his flaws would be virtues.

"And I was upset, at first," she said, moving her hand along his arm, "but then I realised that we have plenty of time. And after living with those horrible people it's understandable if you're starved for attention and really confused about love."

"What? Ginny, I'm sorry. . ."

"Don't say it," she said, and he hesitated. She was sweet, and probably pretty. 

"Don't you want to know what my gift to you is?" she said, and the pitch of her voice really troubled him. 

"I don't want you to give me anything."

"I've been thinking about it for months," she said, in a whisper now, putting her other hand on his upper arm. When had she grown almost as tall as him?

"I'm gay," he blurted out.

"Harry, I understand."

"No, it's not just something to do, it's what I feel, and I'd like to love you but I don't." 

She dropped her hands but remained close. "But you do want to, you see? I knew that."

"I shouldn't have said it that way. It would be easier if I loved you. But I don't." When she smiled again he spat out, "I won't ever love you."

Ginny flinched and looked away, but she said softly, "You're just confused." 

That was too close to the truth to deny, so he just apologised. 

"Everyone says girls mature a lot faster than boys," she said, as if it was a gentle reprimand, and while he was still searching for a reply she just walked away. 

It seemed safe to say the meeting with Ginny didn't go particularly well. 

* * *

Draco led Harry through the castle away from the rain. He'd smoothly said he knew where they should go, but. . . Perhaps he shouldn't take Potter to his room after Severus had warned him to be careful what 'agenda' he brought to this. Typically Slytherin that, putting Draco on edge but not making any direct statement about what Snape wanted. 

And Severus was already angry with him, which Draco understood. It was galling to have given a reason to be thought careless and immature. And Draco could find no reasonable excuse. He had simply forgotten to tell Snape, even though the cover story involved him. The one consolation was that, however awkward the day, it was better than one containing Remus, Snape, Lucius and himself in the same room. 

Remus's parlour then.

"Something to drink? I think he has everything," Draco said with a confident blond smile back to the door, where Harry still stood. "Look Potter, Dumbledore knows you won't be back, your classmates don't care, your virtue's in no danger, come and have a drink."

"I don't need to."

Draco paused, bottle in hand – "What does that mean?"

"Whenever you, or Snape, or for some reason the Headmaster, want to talk to me, you offer me a drink. It's annoying."

Draco poured himself a glass and brought the bottle. "Leaving aside the fact that I've never offered you a drink before – the Headmaster gets you drunk so you'll do things?"

"Tea. Talk. It's the same thing for him. And shut up Draco." Harry closed the door a bit more firmly than necessary and came inside, looking around.

"You always do that," Draco said, sinking to the floor in front of the fire, his back against an armchair. Harry followed him over, sitting in the opposite chair. "Look around the room, I mean; as if it's going to tell you something."

"Sometimes rooms do."

"Not Slytherin rooms."

"This is a Gryffindor room," Harry said with a smile, "but, yeah, even Slytherin rooms. Like Snape's bedroom has some kind of snake in a glass cylinder. It's dimly lit, and I think it's alive or at least magically animated. I think that's pretty revealing."

Draco took a long drink. "I suppose it's different with private rooms. I've never had one. My father's study, I suppose, says things about him." He took another long drink, draining the glass quickly and refilling it. 

Harry joined him on the hearth-rug, back against the chaise lounge. "But I wouldn't know about the snake," Draco finally finished, "never having been in his bedroom."

"Oh. I'm sorry. . ."

Draco waved it off, and poured another glass, which he gave to Harry. "Just drink it, Potter, I'm now officially in mourning," and he took a long drink from the bottle.

"No, we didn't, please don't think. . . That wasn't why I was there. Exactly."

"Tell me then – why were you? Exactly." 

"I can't Draco."

"I don't think Order of the Fucking Phoenix business gets you in Snape's bedroom or I would have tried to sign up years ago." Draco took a drink that was long enough to make Harry a bit concerned whether Remus would think he should stop him. 

"You are in love with him, aren't you?" he finally said, just loud enough to be heard.

"You better not want me to respond to that, because I'm not going to."

"I think you just did."

"Fuck off. Oh. . . no. . . wait. . ."

Harry snatched the bottle just as Draco was about to drink from it again. Some of it spilled, and the strong smell wafted around and, ugh, over them.

"Much as I want to see you lose control and spill your guts, I'm fond enough of you these days to stop you before you hate me. I didn't have sex with Snape." Draco looked at him skeptically. "Really, I haven't." When the long look held, Harry eventually blushed and said, "Not exactly."

"Hah. Has he kissed you?"

After a pause, Harry nodded.

"Hah! That's worse."

"It is?"

"No, not really." Draco smiled at that himself. "Why, then?"

"What?"

"You have him, or near enough. Why dark Harry Potter all week?"

Harry blew out a sigh. There probably wasn't anybody else to tell anyway. "It's really not as great as it sounds. Snape and I. . . I just want to know why it can't ever be sweet."

Battling a pained smile, Draco said, "Excuse me. You want Snape to be sweet?" 

"No, not exactly," Harry said, irritably. "Okay, maybe, a bit."

"I knew he'd be better off with me."

"Probably."

"So would you."

"What?"

"At least I understand why you want that. More or less."

"I just want," Harry said, wishing he knew what came next, "something. I mean, why is it I have to be gay" – Draco screwed up his face at the Muggle word – "when that's just another lot of pain and wrongness. Haven't I had my share?" 

Draco nodded but said, "Who has it better, though?"

"Well look at Ron and Hermione." Harry put down the bottle and sipped from the glass.

"You're kidding."

"No, even after everything it's just oh we love each other really and everyone's so fucking pleased for them. Including me."

Draco leaned over and turned Harry's face to him, very close. "You want to be happy." Harry nodded, just once, and Draco shook his head as if he might laugh or cry.

"What?"

"Do you know what I would give?" Draco said, his hot heady breath back on Harry's face, "Do you have any idea?" His thumb ran along the line of Harry's jaw. 

"Well you're not exactly well-balanced are you?" Harry said as lightly as he could, given that his heart had begun to race and he wasn't sure if it was Draco's touch itself or the erection stirring under his robe – the robe that hid nothing. Harry pulled away and drew his knees up to his chest. 

Draco didn't seem bothered. He leant over to collect the glass. "And you are, Harry?" 

"You're not helping." 

"Okay. Oliver, Marcus, Justin, Pansy, Snape. . ." Draco tapped his fingers on Harry's thigh as he listed the names. 

"I wouldn't exactly put Snape," Harry began, and then stopped. "Hang on, Justin?"

Draco replied with a kiss, not fierce and not gentle. Just warm and soft and slightly wet. It was over quickly and they were still just looking at each other, Draco's hand on his leg, Harry's lower lip caught between his teeth, when there was a knock at the outer door.

Harry pulled away and up onto the chair as Remus came into the room from the other side. "I'll get it," he said, not looking directly their way. 

Harry turned in panic to Draco, who was looking into the fire, nursing his empty glass. 

It was Snape at the door, and Remus went out into the corridor to speak with him rather than inviting him in. 

* * *

__

Lucius

As you insist on pursuing this, what terms do you propose, exactly?

SS

* * *

Next up, the penultimate chapter, "The Trial". I will be back on the 24th, but the next chapter currently consists of an outline, three lines of dialogue, a sex scene, and a seduction. It will take a little while. 


	18. a The Classical Temper

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com. 

Rating: This section – R 

Pairings: This section – elements of HP/DM, SS/DM, hints of DM/RL, but mostly SS/HP.

Notes: For all the people reading who want more Draco action, just be patient. The story isn't over yet, and lots of (I hope) interesting twists are underway.

Spoilers: Various up to the end of Book IV. No OotP whatsoever.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and various corporate tentacles.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Please, it's just plain encouraging. I'm especially grateful to people who give me some direction as to what works and what doesn't.

****

Pervinco VIII (a): The Trial 

As Remus closed the door Harry curled up into the seat. Remus had surely seen him here with Draco, and even if Snape hadn't seen them Remus would tell him he was. . . what the hell was he doing with Draco anyway?

"Are you embarrassed?" Draco asked, sounding bemused by the possibility.

"No, I mean, God it's just so" – for an instant he saw himself, from Remus's point of view, being kissed by Draco on the floor – "wrong."

Draco casually joined him, draping himself over the arm of Harry's chair, one arm around his shoulder. It was warm and very un-Malfoy and Harry thought he should suspect his motives although he wanted to trust them. He let the warm moment last until he felt Draco's breath in his hair and then he slid quickly away, finding himself on the floor again. Draco flopped into the vacated seat. 

"Don't kiss me anymore," Harry said. "It's confusing."

Draco smiled down at him. "Today's the first time I did."

"Oh. I guess it was me the other times, then."

Draco's smile widened. "Guess I'll just wait for you to do it again."

"I mean. . . I promised Snape I would make it clear" – the other boy looked at him expectantly – "that I'm accepting him. That it's not a competition."

"He's worried about that?" Harry half shrugged and Draco added, "That's what the rite is, Harry – competition."

"So. . . are you trying to win now?"

"As always," the blond said, reaching for the bottle over Harry's shoulder. 

Harry caught Draco's arm. "What would you do to win?" He held his gaze, seriously. "I mean, would you. . ." 

He couldn't quite say it, but Draco got it anyway, sliding down on to the floor next to him and saying, confidentially, very close, "No. I'd do that for pleasure. And, of course, to hear you scream my name – all the relevant clichés."

At that, or maybe it was at Draco's diffident tone, Harry laughed. "You know, I usually don't enjoy things that have me screaming."

"You mean Severus doesn't get you that way?"

"I told you, we haven't. . . done anything that would involve screaming."

"He kissed you."

"I think he was humouring me." It was the first time Harry had ever said what he thought Snape was doing. Was that what he thought?

Draco just said, "I sincerely doubt it."

Harry laughed again, and it didn't seem very weird after all. "Do you mind me talking about. . . you know. . . him and me? There's no one else I can say it to, really."

Draco gave him a long look, and flicked his fingers up into the back of Harry's hair a little. "No, you can, but. . ."

"But what? Tell me the truth."

He almost expected Draco to laugh at him, or give one of those superior looks that underlined his maturity and experience, but instead he said quickly, "I don't want you to be his lover." 

Remus came back in from the corridor. He gave them an interested look and turned away before Harry had registered that they were once again sitting on the floor with Draco's arm around him. 

"Well you asked," Draco whispered as he got to his feet. 

They walked to the door, with the obvious understanding that Harry would leave now. At last, when Draco had already opened the door, Harry said quietly "Is that about me at all, or only about him?" 

Before Draco had said anything, Remus was in the room again, and Harry felt a little annoyed that Draco had to go when Remus, it seemed, wordlessly summoned him.

"Come and see me whenever you can, won't you Harry?" Draco said, in a slightly formal tone, as he closed the door.

****

* * *

Hagrid was the first person to mention the difference of this meeting. He'd been cheerfully friendly with each of the supplicants, except Draco, whom he watched rather suspiciously at the same time as he tried to be friendly, which was uncomfortable for everyone. Today he clapped his hands together loudly as he came in – "So, now we get to the real thing, eh Harry?"

Harry had numbly managed to accept tea from Dumbledore and was staring at it distractedly when he realised they were talking about Snape's rooms. Hagrid didn't think Harry should live in the dungeons, and wanted to ask Professor Snape to move upstairs, where a growing lad could get some sunshine and fresh air. Dumbledore was, rather too indirectly, Harry thought, suggesting that Snape might not be quite amenable when all in a rush Harry realised that after they signed a contract people would except them to live together. For years. Did Snape. . . Snape must know that.

". . . don't you worry about it, Harry, I'm sure he's got somethin' special in mind," Hagrid was saying now.

"Ah," Harry looked at Dumbledore, who was twinklier than ever. 

"We were wondering if Severus had chosen a gift for you yet?" Harry looked down at the blue silk under his left hand and blushed before he could stop himself. "Not that you need to tell us, Harry."

He could show them; he knew the raised symbol which opened the Chalybs by touch now. It would release as a fluid snake-like metallic shape but when he touched the two endpieces together it would set again into a flattened metal circle. Dumbledore would be appreciative, Hagrid would be curious. . .

"Not yet," Harry said quietly. 

* * *

Harry followed Snape down to dinner in a state of shock. Snape had bowed to Hagrid. He had also given them both a gift – Harry wasn't sure what the potion was, he'd been too shocked to pay attention, but Hagrid had made his enthusiasm Hagridly clear. Of course, everyone had brought something, but even Draco giving Hagrid exotic sweets could be understood as an expected formality. That just wouldn't do for Snape. 

Snape had, quite seriously, set a date to commence negotiating a contract. It was very Snape-like to say the meeting shouldn't be wasted on mere formality and he'd been irritatingly business-like about the whole thing. He'd also almost entirely ignored Harry, except for the greeting part, and that was pretty Snape-like as well. But Harry still stared in confusion at the back of the Professor's head as they moved down the stairs.

They were having dinner in Snape's rooms. Snape had arranged for Harry to eat with him in private, as if they were. . . Seamus would call it a date. Presumably they would be required to talk to each other, or at least the meal would require something more than grope, cum, and push Harry out the door. Presumably. Harry flushed at the thought and watched Snape reach the bottom step and turn under the light of the bracketed torches into his corridor. In that light the most shocking thing of all hit Harry again – Snape was not wearing black, but a green so dark it seemed black until he moved under light and the sheen of the fabric came up a dark emerald colour. Harry felt kind of faint. He was having dinner with Snape, who had dressed for the occasion. 

* * *

Dobby gave Harry another enthusiastic bow and collected his plate, juggling it on top of the others. "Dobby is very happy to be serving Harry Potter again."

Harry hadn't eaten very much of this course either, but this time, with a nervous look at the Professor, Dobby refrained from encouraging Harry to have more or offering to get him something else, and disappeared with a pop.

Harry breathed out and met Snape's look. "Like I said, I gave him a sock." 

It wasn't in any way romantic, but perhaps that would have been less terrifying because less believable. The table was set in Snape's front room, just past where the lounge would be and in sight of the outer door. 

"And are the house-elves marching to the tune of Ms Granger's liberation?" Snape asked. 

"Not quite. She says they're very culturally conservative. Dobby says they're mostly scared."

"Remarkably perceptive for a house-elf."

"You don't like them?"

"I think very little about them at all. My family didn't keep them when I was old enough to remember, and I don't recall seeing more than their shadows as a student. I believe tonight I have had more conversation with one than ever before." Snape refilled their water glasses now the still half-full wineglasses had been removed.

Harry wanted to ask why Dobby was here then, but he didn't. "Dobby's very talkative for a house elf, I think," he said instead. Harry wanted even more to ask Snape about his home. "Don't you like wine?" he said instead. 

"As a potion it's fascinating, and certainly pleasurable in the right circumstances, but too much wine dulls the taste of good food."

Harry felt almost desperate for a topic where he would feel less like a student. "I've been trying to decide if I should do Sangermano's etiquette classes," he tried, tentatively.

"I thought he was 'Dante' to all the students?" When Harry didn't respond he said, "While I'm sure there are more important subjects, all knowledge has its use."

There was a longer pause around and through the arrival of dessert and Dobby's enthusiastic chatter at one end of the table and nervous silence at the other.

"You don't like Sangermano I take it," Snape asked finally, and although Harry didn't really want to discuss that it was something to talk about.

"He's too insincerely nice. And he drools all over Draco."

"I've managed to avoid that."

"You'd hate it. Trust me."

The silence this time was rather different and Harry began to feel warm.

"I gather from the grateful awkward silences in the common room that your other professors believe you to have recovered from the brink of emotional disaster."

Harry tried not to actually cringe, but his focus on the strawberry thing slowly dissolving in his plate must have given it away. 

"You seem to be finished," Snape said in a strange voice and Harry thought with a sinking feeling that he'd pretty much proved they had nothing to say to each other. He managed yes, and thank you, and moved away from the table. A quick spell returned the room to its usual furnishings and, with no warning Snape said, "I apologise."

Harry was rather glad he'd been leaning against the restored lounge.

"I should have been more circumspect," Snape continued. "I am not excusing that when I say I am in a situation I would never have chosen."

And that stung. Harry turned away and said, "Then don't touch me, if you don't want to. I don't need you to pacify me."

"Do you like brandy?" Snape said, as if it was the obvious continuance of what he'd said before. 

"I've tried it," Harry said, feeling rather tired and more than a little confused, "but I think I've recently discovered that I shouldn't get drunk."

"A man should know those things about himself," Snape said. 

"You're patronising me," Harry said irritably. 

Snape handed him a large round glass – "I'm also getting you drunk." 

"I can't see that you need to," Harry replied, not bothering to hide his bitter tone. 

"It depends on what I want you to do, surely?"

Harry stood very still with the glass in his hand, and kept his attention on the honey-coloured swirl.

"I think about you," Snape said more quietly, and Harry felt like the words actually touched his skin. 

There was a long enough pause that Harry had to turn his head, and Snape was slightly to his right, one hand on the lounge. "Right now," Snape said, "I think about having you naked in my bed." Harry's skin seemed to leap in several directions at once. "Or maybe right here." Snape's was inches away now, his hand resting next to Harry's hip. 

Almost in his ear, Snape said, "I want to open you up and fuck you, Mr Potter – I can see what you'd be like under me right now." Harry felt the slightest touch along his arm through the silk and it sent cascading lines of heat along his skin. As the amber liquid in his glass tilted Snape's dark shadow dipped and blurred there. "But I'm stubbornly holding on to some similitude of my life in which you're my student and I don't do that."

"So, basically," Harry said, forcing himself to look at the other man, "I have to wait till the contract's signed before you'll risk actually admitting that we. . . do. . . this. Before," he took a breath, "I see you naked," and Snape's eyes widened at that, "or get anything but you teasing me – and controlling me?"

Shape moved around in front of Harry, not quite pressed up against him but standing over and around him and Harry stirred in response, trying to repress a shiver. 

"I don't tease," Snape said firmly, although Harry thought there was something almost amused in it and might have smiled but for the distracting sensation of the Professor's hand on his arm. "And I don't think you have a problem with the control," he added, running the hand up to Harry's exposed neck and tipping his head back so they were looking at each other directly.

"No," Harry agreed softly. The hand released him, brushing across his chest and stomach and settling on his hip. Harry looked away with a blush, at the same time furiously instructing himself not to push forward into the other man's body.

Snape moved his head around Harry's, as if breathing him in, although the hands on his back and hip didn't move. "But I'm not sure how much more waiting is feasible," the Professor whispered, his voice strangely soft and harsh. 

Snape cupped his hand around Harry's and brought the glass up to his own mouth. Harry watched Snape's lips close over the rim and the golden liquid spill towards them, saw the long throat swallow, and felt himself shift from tensely aware to definitely hard. 

"Now you," Snape said, and Harry lifted the glass, now warm from their hands and Snape's mouth. He took a sip and it was honey and heat. 

Snape's hand on the side of his face was such an unexpected touch Harry didn't know how to react.

"You didn't like it then?" Snape said softly, "taking me in your mouth." Harry breathed in sharply at the graphic image, which swirled in his mind and prickled across his skin.

"Well?" Snape whispered, sweeping a finger across Harry's mouth. 

"I don't know," Harry said, looking anywhere but at Snape's face. "It was. . . exciting, but. . . You're always keeping me at a distance," he finally said, "keeping me nervous." Snape didn't say anything, but he seemed to have come closer. "Like now," Harry added.

"Yes," Snape said simply. "But you're persistent, aren't you?" If Harry had any idea what to say to that it was lost in the realisation that Snape was unbuttoning the first of the diagonal row of buttons on his robe. He felt himself tremble – and it just wasn't going to happen this way again. 

"I want us to go to bed, naked, together – now," he said, cursing how stupid he sounded. 

"I know," Snape replied, reaching the lower buttons at the waist and letting the robe fall open. "But I won't, Harry. Not when so much is undecided." His hand went to Harry's trousers, unclasping them.

"Is it about Draco?"

"It's about many things we don't need to talk about now."

Snape's hands were pushing his trousers open then and Harry couldn't bear it –"Stop. Please," he said, and Snape did, which was just as well because Harry was pretty sure he wouldn't have said it again. 

Harry placed the glass carefully on the side-table. He felt Snape looking at him intently. He considered just leaving and arguing with his erection all the way back to his room, but instead he took a half step forward and began to undo the buttons on Snape's robe. 

"Just tell me what it is you do want," he said.

As the boy unhooked the cloth-covered buttons down the front of his robe Snape stroked his hand back to the nape of his neck and forward and up along his jaw. 

Long after Harry thought he wouldn't say anything, he did. His voice was quiet, but not at all gentle. "I want you naked, kissed till you can't breathe, and dripping for me." 

Harry bit his lip and moved lower still on the buttons, now too low to watch so he looked up at Snape's mouth saying to him, "I think right now I want to run my hands all over you, pressing against you till you're shaking."

Harry could go no further without bending down, so instead he slipped a hand through the space between the buttons on Snape's shirt to touch his skin, as he never had before, and leant up to kiss Snape's neck. He felt the older man hesitate, but he didn't stop him opening more buttons. 

Harry spread his palm across Snape's bare stomach, the skin was softer than he expected, and ran his tongue out against the even softer skin of his neck. "Please," he breathed against the damp skin, "I want us to be naked. Not the bed then if it means so much more but here, you pushing against me or, god. . . I've been dreaming about it for weeks." 

The words sounded childish but he wasn't going to think about it. Instead he reached down inside Snape's robe to slide his hand against the swollen length of his prick, and Snape was so hard for him. 

"Please," Harry said, no longer caring what he was asking for.

* * *

Lavender half-danced down the corridor and then back to Pavarti. "And Justin was so charming, and did you see Terry Boot, have you ever seen him look so good?"

Pavarti smiled, but Dean muttered, "He looked bloody ridiculous."

Neville dropped back a step or two, definitely not wanting to be associated with the boys' annoyance at Wizarding Etiquette. But they were his friends so he tried to change the subject. "Do you think anyone will actually memorise all those lists so they know who's a master and who's not?" 

"Me for one," Pavarti said. "It'd be hideous to get it wrong, especially when Padma will have it all off by heart – she can be so superior lately."

Lavender wasn't distracted though, and glared at Dean all the way to the door. "Well, I thought Justin looked wonderful," she said distinctly as she let Dean pass her by into the tower. "So sophisticated – like a white king almost."

"Looked like a girl," Dean muttered and Lavender was about to snap back angrily when Seamus found a distraction that worked.

"Where was Harry anyway? I mean I know the Slytherins have all that rot memorised, but Harry hasn't."

"I heard he had a meeting with Professor Snape this afternoon," Pavarti said as they closed the tower door behind them. There was a moment's silence.

"He wouldn't really would he?" Dean said in a horrified voice. "Not Snape?"

"He was probably with Malfoy," Neville said, partly to reassure Dean and partly because he really couldn't imagine it – not Harry and Snape, it just wasn't right.

"Which is vile enough," Dean began, but Seamus punched him hard in the arm as Malfoy came up the stairs from the lower Gryffindor rooms he shared with Professor Lupin. 

They all looked at him silently. When he was just past them, and Neville thought with relief that they hadn't been drawn into a fight, Seamus said with artificial friendliness, "So Malfoy, I guess you haven't seen Harry tonight?"

For a moment Neville thought Malfoy wouldn't answer, but he turned on his coollest smile. "Not yet, Finnegan – but I'll certainly tell him you were looking for him desperately enough to ask me."

"Stow it, Malfoy – he's never come back from the meeting with Snape anyway. Must really burn you up, Harry choosing that old git over you, guess the looks are. . ."

Neville dragged hard on Seamus's arm and looked pleadingly at Pavarti, who grabbed Dean and whispered at him to come along now.

Neither of them thought to grab Lavender though, who gave Malfoy a sympathetic smile – "Don't listen to them, Draco, they don't know anything, and Snape's so, you know, old and ugly. . ."

"Come on Lavender," Pavarti said, when she noticed Neville's panicked look.

Lavender put a commiserating hand on Draco's arm as she went, not noticing his distinct flinch. "He'll probably be along any minute now. Oh, and Dante was asking after you."

"Lavender!"

Draco moved slowly towards the tower door, turning the pass to the restricted section of the library in his fingers. Remus was expecting him, but if he was quick there might be time to see what Severus would say about the meeting with Harry. It never hurt to be better informed. 

* * *

tbc 


	19. b The Classical Temper

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com. 

Rating: This section – R (I think, but if anyone thinks it's NC17 please let me know right away)

Pairings: This section – elements of HP/DM, SS/HP, SS/DM, DM/RL, RW/HG.

Notes: Sorry about the long wait, I've been writing other stories. For the same reason the final part of this chapter will also be longer coming than I'd usually like, but hopefully in not too much more than a week. I have a livejournal now, you can find the address under the author link here, which will keep anyone really keen on the story uptodate on, um, updates. That sounded really corny, sorry, I'm tired. 

Spoilers: Various up to the end of Book IV. No OotP whatsoever.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and various corporate tentacles.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Please, it's just plain encouraging. I'm especially grateful to people who give me some direction as to what works and what doesn't.

Pervinco VIII (b): The Trial 

Snape's shirt hung open on his shoulders, and amid the dizzy pleasure of becoming naked under Snape's hands Harry saw flashes of a pale chest and stomach. He couldn't help touching, but Snape didn't stop him. Hands ran along his bare sides, cupping the slightly prominent curve of his hip and grazing softly over the skin of his back. 

Lips touched Harry's neck and his jaw and then he couldn't look any more because Snape's kiss was all he could think about. This was different than the other times, more important almost or. . . Harry was almost certain Snape wanted it. Wanted him. 

Cool fingers were on him, stroking him gently, and the fire in his stomach sparked through his kiss and circled back again. He pushed his hands under the edges of Snape's shirt, touching skin, and pushed back into the kiss. 

He felt the shift in Snape's position, and hands bumping into his, before he realised what it meant. Harry gasped away from the kiss and looked down at the revelation of Snape undressing – his stomach, a hip, a spray of dark hair and Snape's cock – Harry pushed at the shirt too, but Snape's arms were in the way.

"Leave it, Harry." 

There was some more apparent fumbling beneath Snape's urgent kiss and then Snape's body was on him, pressed against him, and he could feel not just Snape's cock pushed along his and against his and into the curls and the hollows, but that Snape really did want it. 

Snape was breathing over his mouth then and with an intent glance pushed one of Harry's arms upwards. Rather uncertainly, he settled for looping it around Snape's neck. His other hand slid across surprisingly soft smooth skin as Snape pressed against him. A nipple brushed under his exploring fingers and with a groan Snape grasped at his hips and pushed, shooting a rush of heat through his body which tendrilled out even to his fingertips. He did it again, and then more quickly, the delicate and hard length of another man's cock pushing along Harry's and every inch of him was focused there. Almost.

Their mouths were almost still as they breathed against one another and Harry brushed his hand back to this time intentionally close his fingers around Snape's nipple. He was almost embarrassed even as he did it, but Snape moved against him, firm and quick strokes now and he could feel how sticky trails of each other marked their connction. Snape's mouth slid from Harry's neck to his ear, where wetly with kisses he said, "Harry," and with a shocked gasp Harry was coming. The hot spill was slicked across his shifting shivering skin and muscles as Snape began to push in a hard and uneven pattern like his breathing and suddenly his hands were in Harry's hair and his dark eyes were on Harry's and Harry breathed out "S-Severus" as he watched him come. 

* * *

Harry was almost asleep again, his head in the crook of the lounge, and the glass of still unfinished brandy slipping at a dangerous angle, but Severus couldn't quite bring himself to stir the boy into leaving. The fire-warmed room felt soft and quiet, and a few minutes more wouldn't matter – unless of course they mattered far too much. Harry's eyes closed, opened, and slipped closed again. Severus watched him obliquely, although the boy would hardly notice in this state. He shifted a little uncomfortably, narrowly avoiding a smile, as he considered Harry's state. 

He wasn't as concerned as he might have expected about the added intimacy. It wasn't so much that the boy was discreet, but he was insecure and isolated, unsure what, if anything, the sinister Professor Snape wanted with him, how meaningful any of this was or, indeed, if it was really somehow shameful. 

A not inconsiderable part of him would quite enjoy changing the boy's mind about that, but pragmatically things were better as they were. All of this so easily slipped outside the frame in which it must be kept – the channels for Malfoy's plans that the Rite seemed to be rapidly cutting through the Wizarding world. And where, exactly, was Voldemort in all this? If he didn't respect Malfoy's caution he would begin to suspect that all of this served his own aims under cover of the Dark Lord's shadow. It was a long time since Voldemort was so patient, or so subtle. 

Harry shifted further down into the comfort of the lounge, and Severus leaned over to rescue the glass before it tumbled away. 

Green eyes flashed up at him behind glasses slightly off centre. 

"I'm sorry," Harry said, pulling himself up. "I must have fallen asleep." He blushed with typical self-consciousness and Severus's fingers were already smoothing the untidy hair before he thought to stop. 

The boys' eyes were very wide. With reason.

Severus got to his feet and, mercifully, the boy took the hint. 

"Thank you for dinner, Professor," Harry said at the door, without apparently hesitating. In fact, he had already begun to turn the handle before Severus put a hand to his arm. 

The boy gave him an unaccountably nervous look. 

"Good night, Harry," Severus said. 

As they moved out into the hall, Severus caught the boy's curious look in the torchlight, half shadowed by the flare of light across his glasses. 

"Good night," Harry replied quietly.

* * *

Monday morning's first class really shouldn't be double Potions, Ron thought. It was a cruel and unusual punishment. Or, rather, cruel and all too usual where Snape was concerned. The man himself was in a really odd mood. This morning he'd brushed off Ron's concern about the size of the new mandrakes as unimportant and then he'd been utterly silent all through breakfast. Ron had placed and set the table just as any other morning they were scheduled to eat together, but there was no interrogation and no anything else, as if Ron had done something wrong and was expected to work it out. 

Snape swept past with a hiss of fabric on highly polished floorboards – years of unwarranted detentions went into that surface. But he wasn't patrolling the room for any minor infraction which could be ruthlessly enjoyed in the usual manner; in fact he didn't seem to be paying much attention to what anyone was doing as long as they were diligently concentrating on something that looked like work. 

Ron had learned quite a lot about subtle observation recently. It was a necessary survival skill when your every movement almost was tracked by Severus Snape. And as it was so obvious Snape didn't want anyone looking at anything other than this ridiculous rote test he just had to see what it was he wasn't meant to notice. 

Neville seemed a little more relaxed than usual, and several of the Slytherins, Crabbe especially, a little more self-satisfied. Particularly – Ron had to diligently note something or other about gillyweed in one of the boxes as Snape's gaze grazed over his part of the room – particularly when he looked in Malfoy's direction. Ron carefully answered another question that required little effort and shifted so he could, with care, just see Draco. . . staring intently, and rather unpleasantly, at Harry. 

He hadn't seen that kind of malice when Draco looked at Harry in a long time, but he only realised that when he saw it again now – it was somewhere between a pout and a sneer, but definitely a threat. 

There was a slight movement at the front of the class, and Ron knew he'd looked too long. He worked carefully on his questions for a full ten minutes before glancing up to meet Snape's interrogative glare. He repressed a sigh. Great. Newts again. 

* * *

Harry was mildly interested in Sangermano's discussion of "Dress and Deportment." That kind of attention to what you looked like and how you moved was alien to him, but it clearly impressed him in others, and it was undeniably interesting to watch his classmates learning to preen. He expected it from Lavender, Padma and Pavarti, and some of the others. But everyone seemed strangely intent and interested. 

Harry felt he'd been missing a great deal of his ordinary life when nobody else was surprised that Justin had moved on to the full white dress robes. When he stared openly, Lavender assured him they didn't have to wear the embroidered outer cloak all the time, as if that explained everything strange about it. Harry asked who Justin had reached an agreement with, but Lavender hushed him and everyone else was attentively listening. 

Sangermano came across as really polished when you first saw him, but on closer inspection Harry noticed he was actually a little worn, not gently shabby like Remus, well Remus when Harry first met him anyway, but something more desperate. Like an actor playing the role of a sophisticated and attractive person. He was wearing something soft trimmed with fur, all black, with shiny leather gloves, also black, and the other students clearly admired it, but Harry thought it was too obviously his very best robes, brought out to impress. Maybe that was the whole point though, he thought, as Sangermano went through a series of appropriate and inappropriate colour combinations, trickily displayed on the various rapt students. No one else seemed to care if it was all a bit ridiculous, or unimportant. Harry looked around, wishing Ron or Hermione or Draco were here. 

Then there was an exercise in how to walk properly. Harry waited for the guffaws and jibes from the Finnegan and Thomas corner, but Seamus just watched carefully and Dean seemed prepared to go along with it all. Harry watched Justin imitate Sangermano's smooth sweeping procession across the floor and then share a satisfied smile with Cho as she followed him. At the smattering of applause Harry raised an eyebrow and decided that Wizarding Etiquette really wasn't for him.

On the way out he passed Sangermano in a rather intimate conversation with Blaise. They both bowed to Harry slightly after the fashion everyone was adopting, presumably from Sunday's class. He found it unexpectedly irritating and gave them both the least genuine smile he could manage.

* * *

On the one hand Draco didn't need to ask what had happened. He could see it in every moment they were in the same room. On the other hand, he had to know. 

Snape's door was closed but it gave off a less intimidating air – the Potions Master's concession to open office hours. He knocked and was summoned. 

Draco was almost certain Snape expected him, and he took as long as he could to try and gauge the Professor's mood. He seemed almost tense, if that could be distinguished from Snape's practiced impatience with students. The immediate thought that he was still and would always be Snape's student – or even more insignificantly, Snape's ex student – while Harry Potter would be. . . would be something, had him humming again with disappointed anger.

Snape moved out from behind the desk and towards the armchairs near the hearth. "Would you like tea, Draco?"

Draco was very close to sneering something about the headmaster, but was sure something more unadvisable would come out if he tried. He waited instead while Snape poured tea and took a seat facing him. 

"Will you at least sit down?" 

When Draco just stood there looking at him Snape went on as if he had answered. "I wanted to talk to you about your father, who has made me an unexpected offer."

"Which is?" Draco said abruptly, still holding his tense position. 

"He has apparently changed his mind about whether or not I should be permitted to think I am negotiating to obtain you."

Draco immediately moved to the chair and sat down. His throat ached with something between a shout and laughter. Eventually he opened his eyes, not realizing he'd closed them. "At what price?"

Snape gave him a look that radiated approval and Draco thought for a single terrifying moment that he was going to cry. 

"He has no intention of giving me that information yet. I am sure I am supposed to be left salivating over the prospect for long enough to act rashly." 

Draco fought to hold his fingers still as they really wanted to pick at the fabric of his robe – he'd noticed Snape noticing that. 

"It will, of course, be conveniently outside some of the safeguards built into the public recording of Rite contracts, and he is clearly sure I will go to some length to have you."

"And you won't," Draco said, more than surprised at his own calm tone.

"You do comprehend that he plans to give you away to the highest bidder." 

"Yes, Professor," he said, with some emphasis on the title. "Haven't I made it clear that I understand that? Haven't I asked for your assistance with exactly that?" Draco stood and took two careful steps towards where Snape sat and sank down onto the floor. He stretched a hand out to rest on Snape's knee, and allowed it to be as close to heartfelt submission as he could. He didn't even look up. "Will you?" he said.

The pause lasted long enough that Draco had to look at him, and the open sadness on Snape's face was like a blow.

"You still don't trust me," Draco said roughly, his hand and his head flicking back. "And of course you don't need to, when you can have him – you think he's naïve and easy."

"No." Snape held his angry look without apparent emotion. "But you're right too, I don't trust you."

"And you think you're trustworthy?"

"I know my limitations, Draco; I don't think you know yours."

Draco was on his feet and leaving, but he stopped himself just before storming out. 

"Did you fuck him?" he said, looking pointedly at the print on the wall rather than Snape.

"Yes."

Draco sneered across clenched teeth. "Did he even know what you were doing?"

"He's fond of you," Snape said, getting up and coming nearer, although he didn't try to touch or comfort him, which Draco thought bitterly was just as well. 

"He's got no more sense than that."

"You like him, I know it. You envy him, but you won't hurt him."

"Unless I have something to gain by it." Draco wasn't sure his tone was cruel rather than petulant, and he was damned if he was going to. . . if they were going to make him. . . though for fuck's sake he was probably damned anyway. He did the only thing he could.

As he pulled the door open Snape said, "Don't sell yourself short, Draco." His voice was excruciatingly tender – not now, Draco thought, not like this.

"Oh I know my price, Professor," he said with all the considerable bitterness he could conjure. "That more than anything."


	20. c The Classical Temper

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com. 

Rating: This section – R (I think, but if anyone thinks it's NC17 please let me know and I'll write an alternate version for ff.net before it gets taken down)

Pairings: This section – elements of HP/DM, SS/HP, mostly DM/RL.

Notes: Note the change of title for this chapter (for editing reasons). 

Spoilers: Various up to the end of Book IV. No OotP whatsoever.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and various corporate tentacles.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Please, it's just plain encouraging. I'm especially grateful to people who give me some direction as to what works and what doesn't.

**Pervinco VIII: The Classical Temper (c)******

It was impossible not to feel like things were different. At dinner and in Potions Harry felt like Snape was preoccupied, and particularly avoiding eye or any other contact with him. Everywhere else, all the places Snape was not, he felt like any moment now someone would turn around and say "we all know, you know," or, "I know that you're doing it with Snape," or "so Snape's your boyfriend now is he." The other and worse possibility haunting him was this always on the edge of his seat fear that he would leap up himself and yell out "I'm shagging Snape," or something worse like "I think I'm sort of maybe falling in love with Snape" – though that was too long to yell and he wasn't at all sure it was true. He felt something, though, something hot and anxious and fluttery, that wasn't just about wanting more of the kissing and nakedness and touching and coming and maybe even more next time.

Tuesday night, Lavender was still talking about the "choosing your supplicant through divination" special they'd discussed last night, and for no particular reason Harry suddenly realised that he was probably going to have to start thinking about Snape as his lover. He almost choked on his cocoa, got a strange look from Hermione, and suddenly wanted to tell Draco. He could ask Draco if there was some way he could bring it up with Snape or if they should maybe be at least call each other by their first names now, after everything, but it was well after curfew and he couldn't really break into Draco's bedroom in the middle of the night. That really would confuse things.

The next day, Potions seemed even worse. Harry was embarrassed and self-conscious and kept dropping things, and in the end Snape abandoned the silent treatment and just growled at him in disgust. Strangely, that seemed to make things better, and Harry managed to make it through the rest of the class without any spectacular mistakes. By evening he'd had enough of everything, though, and skived off to the library before anyone could try and convince him to give the Etiquette class another try. Lavender and Pavarti had persuaded Hermione to go tonight, and Lavender had been making sly comments about Harry's difficulties at the Malfoy party. Harry couldn't remember any problems that being instructed in table manners by Sangermano would have helped, but quite a lot of that evening was rather fuzzy. Hermione was sure to try and get him to come along anyway, so he escaped. 

After dark the best place to find quiet was the archives room where he and Draco used to meet - which seemed like ages ago now. He knew it was locked some of the time because desperate to be alone once he'd told Seamus it was a good place to take a girl, and the hapless couple had to be rescued by Filch after being cornered by some library books while trying to get the door open. But it always opened for Harry. Near the corner where the archives where concealed he saw Draco, standing with his hand on a chair, attentive to something going on behind a bookcase. Smiling, Harry was half way to Draco before he felt any embarrassment at the way his stomach leapt when he saw Draco being utterly poised in a library. It was probably really inappropriate, given the commitments he'd sort of almost in some way been making to Snape, but Snape knew he and Draco were friends. And they were, Harry thought, with some kind of certainty for the first time; they were friends. 

Harry paused and lowered the smile a little when he saw who Draco was with. Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise, Pansy Parkinson, and a younger Slytherin girl were sitting around the library table. Pansy was narrating something apparently amusing, and Draco threw his head back and laughed. Harry blushed at the white line of Draco's neck and looked away. 

"Hello Harry," Blaise said, and Harry looked back to catch them all turning to him. Draco gave him a strange cool look, or rather a familiar cool look he hadn't seen in a while.

"Yes, hello _Harry_," Crabbe said. Goyle thumped him in the side and darted his eyes in Draco's direction. 

Harry decided to ignore them. "Hi Blaise, Draco," he said, but that seemed really rude so he added, "everyone."

Draco raised both eyebrows in that all too familiar way and turned to lean on the table, obviously joining the others in amusement. "What can we do for you, Potter?"

Harry knew there were lots of reasons why Draco might want to avoid talking to Harry in front of his Slytherin classmates, even though it was a bit disappointing. "Oh, nothing," he said, calmly enough. "Just passing and thought I'd say hello."

Turning away, he heard Goyle say he was crazy, faintly heard one of the girls whispering, and heard Draco distinctly say, "Why on earth would I know - and why would I want to know?" There was laughter, and while Harry really wanted to be much further away he ducked behind the bookcase and into the archive room, closing the door. 

* * * 

When he'd finished the copy of _Quidditch_ Monthly_ someone had left on the table Harry figured the Slytherins would be gone wherever Slytherins went while almost everyone else learned about Etiquette. He really didn't want to be part of Draco's games, however necessary they probably were. He ruffled the magazine's last pages a few more times. Hugh Enderby, the new star Chaser for the Cannons waved amiably at him from the back cover, gesturing encouragingly to his glass of Fortescue's Frothing Delight. Harry didn't think the advertised product would help. No doubt there would be a reason - Draco did everything for a reason. Including make friends with him, of course, and that was the catch._

The door clicked open, and he knew who it was without looking up. Something inside him unclenched in relief.

"The noble Gryffindors dump you again?" Draco said, closing the door behind him. 

"Just couldn't stand to watch your ex primping and flirting," Harry replied, but he could see Draco was upset. He had that tense aura about him, like he was holding and watching every single muscle in his body, and that made Harry tense as well. Draco's moods were all catching that way. 

"You could tell him you were walking proof that primping and social graces were unnecessary," Draco said, looking at him sidelong. "Although I think you've got flirting down to a subtle art - the naïve virgin thing really works for you."

"What?" 

Draco crossed the room towards him, all smirk and slide, and Harry was truly confused, and upset enough to get to his feet. "What's going on, Draco? What happened?"

Draco leant against the table next to him, and Harry remembered he'd been kissed here once, by this boy, just like this, but not while being coldly sneered at. 

"What happened? I suppose it really isn't much of an event for you - just the next example of how everything works out for the great Harry Potter eventually." Realisation hit Harry somewhere above his stomach, and he couldn't breathe. "Oh look," Draco said with a bitter smile, "he gets it. Wonderful. I'm so glad I didn't have to draw you pictures - that would be embarrassing."

"Draco." Harry really didn't know what came next, but Draco's expression was demanding. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry." A blank look that was still obviously furious swept over Draco's face and was gone, replaced by a sardonic smile again. "The fact that you know is bad enough, but that you can act like you care about it and then run right down and fuck him." Leaning slightly forward, Draco said the last words with emphasis through clenched teeth. "What the hell kind of Gryffindor are you, anyway?"

Harry turned his face away, but he said quietly, "Hypocrite."

"What?" Draco whispered harshly.

"Like you haven't always been trying to make me do what you want, what suits you, without thinking about how I feel."

"Oh yes, because you endlessly telling me how confused you are makes how you feel so clear. One minute you're gagging for Snape and the next you're kissing me, looking at me like I'm the only thing you can think about. Fuck, you did it again just now out there, in front of everyone."

Draco's voice was raised, his face flushed and full of something bleak and breathless. But it was all a front. Harry knew it. "Don't worry, Draco," Harry said angrily, "I'm actually not torn at all." He moved away, still with his eyes on Draco, and said distinctly, "You wouldn't be worth the risk."

Harry left in a hurry, before anything more could be said, almost blindly rushing through the library, down the stairs, and across the hall, ignoring everyone in his path. 

* * *

Draco had stayed in the library, avoiding the Slytherins and everyone else. He'd walked in the upper corridors watching people skulk, stalk and furtively giggle well after curfew. He'd seen Filch doing his rounds – once he watched him pass muttering in the darkness, and a second time he saw him at a distance, stroking his mangy old cat with affection. Draco watched that for a while. Some time later Draco saw Snape sweep into a stairway; he turned and went the other way.

Draco carefully unlatched the door to Lupin's quarters and slipped quietly through. Once inside, he paused with his hand on the door and, after a few slow breaths, slammed it behind him.

He waited till Remus came into the parlour. 

"Draco?" Remus wore a long white shirt and his hair was ruffled as if he'd pulled himself out of bed. 

Draco just looked at him. 

"Draco, what is it?"

Draco walked into the room past Lupin with only a glance. "I'm going to choose you." Before Remus could say anything he said, "But I'm not just going to be your apprentice and hang around Hogwarts and generally fail to be evil. I'm still me."

"I don't expect you to be anyone else," Remus said.

"And what do you expect, then?" When he didn't reply Draco came back towards him. "I need to believe you are on my side." 

"I said I was your friend. I meant it."

"In a Gryffindor way," Draco said bitterly, "which means as long as I'm obviously on the right side. I want more."

"You don't know me well enough to judge what I mean by friendship, Draco."

"You're more complicated than you look," Draco conceded. "So let's go to bed, Remus; I want us to fuck. Tonight. Now." 

Remus kept his eyes on Draco for a moment, without blinking, and then turned away. Draco tensed a little. 

"Why Draco?" Remus said, walking to the window, circling the table by which Draco stood. "Certainly not because you need to know me; or because it will convince you I'm on your side." 

"I know you want it." 

"Perhaps," Remus said. "But why exactly would I act on it? What would I have to gain?"

"Isn't this what you've been asking me for?" Draco said, crossing the room slowly. "An opening?"

Remus waited, leaning against the wall next to the window and watching him come closer. Draco pressed his hand flat against Remus's chest, sliding it slowly across the still bed-warm cloth up toward his shoulder. "This is an opening."

Remus didn't move. Not forward, not to touch him, and not away either. "What kind of opening, Draco?"

Draco stepped away to the other side of the window, looking out across the barely visible grounds towards the forest. Something dark shifted out there. It was always a matter of what you had to give in order to get what you need. 

"I'm in love with Severus," Draco said, without anger, but his hands were tightly clenched till he could feel the sting of his nails in the flesh.

He felt Remus's hand very tentatively touch his arm. He heard him say, "I'm sorry." 

"Everyone's sorry," Draco said with soft bitterness, still watching the dark move against the dark, waiting as always for some slightly safer way to become clear. 

Remus stepped closer, he could feel the heat and the intense observation. The hand on Draco's arm moved to become a loose arm around his back. 

"Severus doesn't want me and. . . I'm not safe. That leaves you, or him." He didn't bother to elaborate, but "him" was accompanied by an almost indiscernible nod to the dark grounds. Draco turned to look at Remus then; the werewolf's eyes were both hot and cautious. Draco carefully returned his hand to Remus's shoulder. "Don't you want to save me from the forces of darkness?"

"I very much doubt that I can."

Draco smiled as if that was an immense compliment. "Then don't you want to save me from myself; from what eats at me inside?"

"There's even less hope of me doing that Draco," Remus said, but he returned the smile, and put a hand to Draco's elbow, as if to steady him as the boy ran his hand as far as Remus's stomach and curled across it.

Draco laughed; or at least it was something like a laugh. "Then don't you want to bind me to the forces of light?"

Remus shifted his hand from Draco's elbow to the small of his back. He leant forward a little, breathing in, as if tasting the air Draco moved through. 

"Not exactly," he said eventually, "but I might want to feel for you." Draco went to step away again but Remus blocked his way. "I might want to warm you," he added. 

"I don't want those things," Draco said sharply. 

Leaning closer, Remus breathed against his hair. "I might want to taste you while you come in my arms." He mouth brushed the side of Draco's face almost but not quite in a kiss. "But it's a very bad idea." 

"It can't make anything worse."

"Perhaps not for you," Remus said, still against his skin, "but for me?" He put his other hand to the back of Draco's head, pressing the stiff strands up and in. "You overwhelm everything, Draco; it's your way. And my everything would never be nearly enough."

Draco exhaled with something like frustration and turned to wrap his arms around Remus, drawing in the warmth and the apparent calm. "Then sacrifice yourself for a noble cause, Gryffindor," he said. 

"I'm not quite that easy to play," Remus said, and perhaps he was smiling again. 

"Then do it for fun, Remus, or because you have to. Let me see if there's really any wolf there." Remus drew Draco's head away, but there was intensity in his open assessing look, and Draco felt like he'd won something.

* * *

Draco had been in Remus's room during the full moons, but it looked different now. The furniture from the low long bed to the telescope was the same, but there were books scattered in uneven piles and clothes hung over chests and chairs. 

"Charming," Draco said, "you could have cleaned up."

"I thought we were being more open with each other."

"You don't have to make it sound so. . . Hufflepuff." Remus laughed and Draco shrugged off the odd nervousness. 

Remus gestured and the candles were extinguished. A faint new moon shone through one partly uncovered window. With one step, Remus took Draco's hand, with another, he pressed his hand against Draco's shoulder, manouevring him to the wall. "What do you know about werewolves, Draco?"

With a sarcastic huff Draco leant back against the wall and said, "Is this one of those 'just remember you belong to me now' speeches? Because I'm only eighteen and I've already heard two of those."

Remus seemed completely unfazed. "Let me see if there's any wolf there, you said – do you think I'm a wolf right now?"

Draco shifted against the surprisingly strong pressure of Remus's hand. "Are we going to spend all night talking about why I want to do this, or are you actually going to do something?"

"Are you yearning for some Gryffindor spontaneity, Draco?" Remus said, and with a flash of anger Draco really did try to pull away and Remus kissed him, looping an arm around his neck, firmly holding his other shoulder in an encompassing embrace. He felt almost entirely off-balance when Remus stopped. "Or do you only play with monsters?"

Angrily, Draco kissed him back. Remus put both hands to Draco's face, slowing the kiss and drawing it out. Eventually Draco let the heat and the slow wet rhythm draw him closer into Remus's body. He was hardening under the press and stroke of the kiss, and anger and fear and excitement had his skin jumping where Remus touched it.

Hands were searching for the buttons on his robe before Draco broke away to gasp in a breath. As Remus began to unfasten the robe, beginning at his waist, Draco caught up a fold of Remus's shirt and brushed his hand across a naked thigh. With a sharp breath, Remus stepped back and pulled Draco's robe away, not bothering with the last buttons, which came free with the sharp sound of tearing silk. 

There was a rush of lips and tongue and hands as Draco was guided to the bed. Remus was all shadow-edged; the dim light picked out the slight wave of his hair, the pale line of his shoulder, his eyes as he moved over Draco and caught his gaze despite the darkness.

"Don't," Draco said, a little more urgently than he wanted, "Don't talk now."

Remus's thin soft fingers glanced against Draco's stomach and hip and stroked around his cock. Draco had to move into the touch and had to make that noise and he threw his arms around Remus's neck. He pushed into the kiss hard, and Remus kissed him back just as fiercely, fisting Draco's cock between them. Draco thrust with the kiss and the caress until he could feel those urgent rushing shivers hurtling in from his fingers and toes and through his hair and he wrenched his head back and reached down to circle Remus's cock loosely, running all five fingers around and along it, smiling at the pulse and throb and the sticky heat where it fell against his thighs. 

"Fuck me now," he said, and Remus growled, not in his throat but in his chest, tightened his hold on Draco and pushed down and along Draco's body, his mouth on Draco's neck with hot wet need. At the first sting of teeth Draco tensed, and the fingers on his cock tightened and were suddenly pumping him hard as Draco came, breathing into the dark.

Arms drew him up, and only a small part of his mind fought the relaxed pliability. It was Remus Lupin, after all. As he was turned in the bed Remus said, "Yes I've wanted you and this. But don't underestimate me Draco." Wet sticky fingers were at his arse, two fingertips sliding in and around, efficiently stretching him to be entered there and he shivered and pushed back and when it stung he didn't care. "I feel for you Draco," Remus said in his ear as the fingers sharply twisted further in and Draco bit his lip at the burn which was almost but not quite pleasurable. "I want things for you" – another finger and the arm beneath him forced him to his knees and the fingers turned and slipped and stung – "against all common sense." With a twist and a thrust he was opened further and it was too fast not to hurt but that was good and Draco was breathing hard. "But I won't let you destroy me," Remus whispered in his ear, "even if it means I have to save you." 

The fingers were gone and Draco knew he wasn't really ready for what came next. He tried not to tense as he felt Remus shifting behind him. Then the soft mouth was back at his ear saying his name and the cock was shockingly slick as it pushed and slid into him, with nothing worse than a dull burn and overwhelming fullness, but sickening and thrilling as always. 

* * *

The boy turned in the bed, perhaps a little stiffly, but carefully not disturbing the covers. Remus could just sense the dawn arriving, and perhaps the light coming through the open curtains was even a little brighter – everything was always a little dull in this phase of the moon. Since they'd finally fallen back against the pillows Draco had barely moved, but now he lifted the far side of the covers carefully.

"Draco?" Remus said, putting a hand to the boy's shoulder. His hand was so dark against the boy's whiteness, so weathered in comparison, he could see that contrast even in this light. But he'd been through that in his head and with Albus many times. If it was this or Voldemort for the boy, better this; no matter how deeply wrong it sometimes seemed or how gravely he doubted his own motives.  

"Draco?" he tried again, when the boy hadn't moved and hadn't spoken and right now he could just sense wariness, even fear, though he didn't need any inhuman abilities to know that. Remus pulled himself up on one arm and, faced with such an obvious approach Draco finally turned to look at him. His face was still, pale to blue in the almost light, his eyes tense and shadowed. Remus forced himself to smile as warmly as he could.

"It would be very rude to slip out without saying goodbye."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I'm fairly sure the etiquette for illicit one night stands allows for slipping out before morning."

"True, but when you take a new lover it's expected that you'll make a little awkward conversation the morning after." 

Draco didn't reply, but his arch smile covered something cautious, tense, and utterly unlike the boy who writhed on his cock and stuttered and shook as he came. Remus felt his prick warm and twitch at that recollection. Draco relaxed a little, and let his hand come up to rest at the edge of Remus's pillow. His fingers were white and delicate. 

"Aren't you a little old to be wanting another round so soon?" Draco said, relaxing into the smile a little more.

To his own chagrin Remus only just staved off a blush. "It could be the werewolf."

"Really?"

"No," Remus smiled. 

With a tiny nervous flick of his fingers on the pillow Draco said, "I should go."

"Stay; at least till after breakfast."

Draco hesitated, though Remus couldn't tell what conflicted with his interests or his expectations. "I'm not sure. . ." he began, clearly avoiding Remus's eyes.

"Just like this," Remus said, sliding an arm underneath Draco's shoulders and gathering him in against Remus's chest. "And now you sleep until I wake you with food, which I might add you consume in huge quantities for someone as thin as you are."

Draco gave Remus an incredulous look, but Remus closed his eyes and wrapped himself around Draco, both arms and one leg, his mouth in his hair and his breath falling down over his neck. 

The boy didn't sleep, but he drifted close to it. Remus listened to his breathing and the beating of his heart above the sounds of Hogwarts waking up, and tried to imagine the difference of today compared to yesterday.


	21. a Between the Acts

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com. 

Rating: This section – PG13 inclining to R

Pairings: This section – elements of HP/DM, SS/HP, SS/DM, DM/RL, RW/HG.

Notes: So we're nearly at the end. This is part A of the final chapter. Two more parts to come. It's possible this may be cut back a little in the final edit. 

Spoilers: Various up to the end of Book IV. No OotP whatsoever.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and various corporate tentacles.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Please, it's just plain encouraging. I'm especially grateful to people who give me some direction as to what works and what doesn't.

****

Pervinco IX (a): Between the Acts 

The final Defence tutorial before the Ministry's big Halloween event had been devoted to selecting students for the duelling trial, and the light-hearted internal competition suddenly became more serious. When Pavarti asked again how the wand grip was supposed to be changed after your first spell, Padma snapped at her to do her own work for once. Seamus kept Ron constantly in sight, cautiously copying his every move, until Ron asked what he thought he was doing. And Pansy tried to blackmail Draco into helping her because he hadn't been in his room before breakfast this morning – Draco just looked at her incredulously and walked away. 

The tutorial was observed by second-assistant-to-the-Minister Henry Rookwood, who watched impassively and made notes about everything, including, apparently, the internal bickering and Professor Lupin's burst of frustration when Lavender insisted that girls shouldn't have to duel boys when she was paired with Ron in the first round.

"Do you think a male Death Eater would be too polite to curse you because you're a girl?"

"Well, I'm sure I don't know," Lavender said, clearly already on the verge of tears, and with some annoyance the Professor paired her with Padma instead, only to have Pansy insist that she certainly shouldn't have to duel with Draco if Lavender got to be resorted. Second-assistant-to-the-Minister Rookwood took diligent notes while Lupin and Draco reshuffled everyone so that only boys and girl were paired, meaning Draco had to duel against the Professor himself. When Lupin realised that most of the class had stopped their own bouts to watch him duel Draco, and he might not have noticed at all except for Rookwood's significant cough, it became the first class in which Professor Lupin ever gave multiple detentions. 

In the end the duelling list included most students. This only made exclusion more obvious, although some, like Neville, didn't seem to care at all, or at least not as much as their friends cared for them, while others, like Lavender, certainly did. Lavender wasn't even interested in the resurrection of an old copy of the Rite supplement that night, or in the long discussion of where other competitors would come from and how many wizards and witches in Britain didn't come through Hogwarts. Hermione, of course, had looked it up, but for once everyone was enthusiastically interested in what she knew, and only Lavender and Harry slipped away before she was done explaining private colleges and the almost extinct tutoring system. 

* * * 

When Harry entered the upper West hall and saw the cluster of students waiting outside the staff common room, he wondered if there was any way to get out of it. He hesitated at the corner, fidgeting with the blue robe, which still felt awkward although it fit perfectly. 

He hadn't seen Severus outside of class since that night. Severus – he was determined to call him 'Severus', at least in his head, because he'd never called him 'Professor Snape' there and 'Snape' seemed rude, under the circumstances. He must have thought about going to see him at least twenty times a day, but he also desperately wanted it to be Severus who contacted him. It had always been Harry, asking for the offer, knocking on his door, waiting on the next owl, except on Sunday and everything had seemed different then. Harry very much hoped it stayed that kind of different, although he wasn't sure exactly why it all suddenly seemed so important.

Every time he saw Draco, even passing in a hall, Harry wanted desperately to know he was in love with Snape – with Severus. Because if he wasn't, if he just wanted to see what it was like, or even if he only enjoyed it and wanted to enjoy it some more, then maybe he really shouldn't have. . . when he knew how Draco felt. However much Harry scolded himself to remember that Draco couldn't be believed about anything, he really was more certain of Draco's feelings for Snape than his own. All he could say for sure was how intensely he remembered every touch of Snape's hands, every instant they kissed, and how much he wanted to do it again. He tried to find some less clearly sexual feeling, but he wasn't sure he had anything to compare it to. And Snape, who surely understood what was going on more than Harry did himself, had said that time that the Slytherin boys were right to think this was all about sex. What if it was?

If Snape came to him now and said 'Harry, I'm in love with you', how would it feel? Harry couldn't entirely suppress an hysterical laugh at the thought and several heads turned towards him. Hermione came to draw him into the group just as the doors opened.

* * * 

Severus watched Dante Sangermano move through the awkward atmosphere of the Hogwarts staff common room surrounded by a bubble of social ease. The students, however enthusiastic they had been before, were embarrassed or self-conscious now, awkwardly silent or nervously whispering whenever Sangermano was not nearby to encourage them in light conversation. With some satisfaction, Severus thought this was less anxiety over whether their professors would like them than embarrassment at realising their professors were people with little concern for the social graces they had been diligently schooled in this last week or, in some cases, their whole lives. While it was nonsensical to have presumed the Hogwarts staff would teach them anything about the traditional formulae for polite society it was probably a highly desirable corrective at this point. Parkinson was so discomfited by Hagrid's happy conversation on disposing of hippogriff afterbirth, his own chipped beaker in one hand because the glasses were too "fiddly" and five or six canapés in the other, to have actually grabbed Bulstrode's hand. Finnegan had not at all recovered from the way Flitwick burst into giggles when Finnegan bowed to him, and was generally hiding behind Thomas and Brown in a corner, drinking more wine than he should. 

Although there had been a general round of acknowledgements when Severus arrived, slightly after the students, Harry still hadn't spoken to him directly. At present he was unsure whether or not to be relieved. The boy stood to one side with Granger and Weasley, and declined drinks and the passing food despite the very unsubtle urging of the big-eared house-elf. Harry had been remarkably cautious this week, although Severus could feel his attention at times, mostly when his back was turned and everyone else was occupied. He had even considered inviting Harry to his rooms, although he quickly shook that off. He could hardly proposition the boy so bluntly, and he wanted to avoid discussing the obvious rift with Draco at this point. That situation must be handled delicately, and he'd never exactly noticed Harry Potter for his social subtlety. Still, he wondered if the boy's silence indicated second thoughts. Harry had evidently enjoyed their last encounter, but his concern about whether he should enjoy it might have begun to seem more important. He cut off Sprout's rambling about Sinistra's lovely visit to her new greenhouse abruptly and began to make his way around the room. 

Slytherins understood expected formalities with no content in a situation like this, so he greeted his senior students as he went until he came upon Draco, just entering with Lupin and both blatantly late. Although an acknowledgement was appropriate, Severus couldn't quite bring himself to move on. Draco's look made his stomach clench, grey eyes just sliding across his face. He was almost surprised to find he knew this was actual hurt rather than mere frustration.

Zabini and Parkinson came up exclaiming their relief. " Draco," Parkinson said enthusiastically, slipping a hand around his arm as if to draw him away, "you look incredible." 

Yes he did. Composed, but without his usual hauteur, and Severus found himself wishing the boy would look at him. Draco turned to Lupin instead and excused himself to go with his friends, nodding to Severus without meeting his eyes or saying a word. 

"Severus," Lupin said, as he would have moved quickly away, "if you have a moment."

Very reluctantly Severus stopped. Draco's alliance with Lupin had generated a little extra common room gossip this week as they had taken to eating all their meals together. Severus was all too sure why Draco was avoiding the Hall, but he probably needed to know what Lupin had been told. He hesitated long enough to take a glass from a passing tray juggled by an elf who tried to bow to him at the same time as serve. 

"Very well – what is it?"

"I know the invitations for the Malfoy party on Sunday allow a guest," he said quietly, turning a trifle obviously so his conversation wouldn't be seen, "and I hoped you might take me along." Severus was surprised enough to not immediately answer and Lupin added, just as quietly, "Draco has been instructed to escort Miss Parkinson and it's important that I be there. Harry will have his own invitation, of course."

Severus was now sufficiently composed to say, in a warning tone, "I think not."

"Perhaps we can talk about it later," Lupin said affably enough, but as he stepped away he hesitated near Severus's shoulder. "You offered assistance, Severus, don't disappoint him again."

Severus walked towards the Headmaster, calmly closing down his anger. Dumbledore proceeded to ramble on in a distracting manner, as he so often did, and especially when Severus needed him to. After several minutes, excused himself politely. 

Crossing the room to where Harry stood with his friends, Severus carefully did not look at the way Draco occasionally brushed Lupin's arm, shoulder or back as he shifted to welcome someone, take a glass, or illustrate his point with a gesture. But like everyone else, he noticed.

"Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, Ms Granger, good evening."

"Oh," Harry said, as if he hadn't seen Severus coming, "Good evening, Professor Snape."

After a small strained silence, Weasley said, "Can I get you another drink, Professor?" When Severus nodded, he took Granger's arm and guided her over to the drinks table where they promptly started talking to Hagrid. 

Parkinson skittered past in a rapid escape, a chorus of Ravenclaw laughter drew attention briefly to Sinistra and her enclave settled in the armchairs near the large fireplace. Harry glanced nervously around the room. 

"I appear to have frightened away your friends," Severus said.

"No, I mean, they were humouring me – they'd rather talk to someone who wants to be here."

"You don't find it amusing?" He discreetly directed Harry's attention to Finnegan and Thomas staring openmouthed at Professor Trelawney's flirtatious laughter, and to Professor Vector blocking the escape of several students trying to abandon her to Professor Binns' long explanation of something or other. 

"Maybe. But I'd still. . ." They exchanged a look which was suddenly loaded with other places to be and other things to do, and Harry glanced away again. Severus watched him slightly shuffle his feet, shift his hips, and manage not to blush.

On the other side of the room Draco laughed. It was eerily reminiscent of Narcissa and Severus turned to see him put a hand rather intimately on Lupin's arm. Zabini stifled a cough and drained his glass, Crabbe and Goyle stared at them open-mouthed and Draco turned over Lupin's shoulder to catch Severus's eye. 

At his side, Severus heard Harry say, "Oh my God."

* * * 

By eight o'clock the seventh year were assembling in the west foyer just as most of the school were coming down to breakfast. McGonagall sorted them into groups of six, with a staff member to which each group would report until they assembled promptly at midnight to return. She tapped her quill firmly on her ledger as she repeated, "Promptly," with some emphasis. 

There was a small upheaval as Millicent was found to have gone back to the dormitory for something and a rearrangement of Sinistra's group of girls was required. The Ravenclaw Head insisted the substitute be Hermione, because she really deserved to be with her friends after everything that had gone on this term. McGonagall eventually agreed, pursing her lips crossly when Sinistra insisted that Hermione spent all her spare time in Ravenclaw Tower anyway. Not in her best mood after that, McGonagall was annoyed at Snape insisting Ron Weasley must be included with his group, thus breaking up the group of Gryffindor boys, and she snapped at Ron's request that Harry come along with them. 

"Entirely inappropriate," she said down her nose, although both Ron and Professor Snape were rather taller than her, "under the circumstances." 

When Snape stiffly ignored her as he led the boys to the Floo she muttered that she certainly hadn't meant to imply. . . but he gave her a curt nod and turned away before she finished.

"Really," McGonagall huffed, looking back at the frankly curious and more surreptitiously entertained mix of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor girls remaining with her. "Go on then," she said, "don't stand there dithering girls, get your things." 

* * * 

As the Hogwarts students stepped and stumbled into the Centre for Wizarding Culture atrium they were met by a line of wizards, armed with questionnaires, calling each of them by name. Harry was pushed forward as another group came through the oversized fireplace behind him. 

"Harry Potter!" one of them called. When Harry couldn't identify the wizard asking for him, Professor Flitwick put a hand under his elbow and guided him to a young blond wizard with a moustache. "Mr Harry Potter?" he said again. "Of Hogwarts and Privet Drive, Surrey?"

"Ah, yes." Flitwick moved off into the gathering crowd. 

"Your number for the duelling competition will be twenty-nine." 

"Twenty-nine?" 

"Twenty-nine. Is that your duelling costume?" 

Harry looked down at the blue robe. "I don't have a specific. . ."

"Then you won't need the rules about duelling armour. Do you wish to enter any of the following demonstrations: Divination, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Herbology, or Combined Magics?" he rattled off quickly, glancing up at the end with his quill poised.

"Um, we weren't exactly told. . . what do I have to do?" 

"Please read this explanatory leaflet and sign up on that wall before you leave the atrium. The welcome begins through that arch in seventeen minutes," he said briskly, passing Harry a leaflet and moving away, calling, "Pavarti Patil!"

The leaflet listed the initial tests and subsequent structure for the exhibitions. Harry skipped Divination, the qualifying test for which required divining what was behind a veil (he wondered if Professor Trelawney could be asked to take that). He was trying to remember the colour-change spells that might qualify him for Transfiguration when Hermione was suddenly at his side, bouncing enthusiastically. 

"Oh, did you see? That rain shield charm we practiced last week is the qualifier for Charms. What luck!" 

"Yeah, amazingly lucky," Ron said coming up beside her, focussed on his leaflet, "considering the grading test if you qualify is to animate a chess piece." 

"Which we did the week before," Hermione said. "That is odd. Oh, but perhaps everyone's been practicing the set Charms," she said, looking around at the students who clearly weren't from Hogwarts. "Do you think we should ask?" 

"Not now, Hermione; it can't be a bad thing. Which ones are you signing up for?" 

And they walked off, happily bickering about whether Ron could qualify in Potions, which required identifying four separate potions by scent, taste, and observation. Hermione said Ron hadn't paid attention in Potions for six years and Ron claimed he'd learned more in Snape-servitude than anyone had in those six years. They were laughing and Ron put his arm around her back – Harry didn't know if he felt more pleased or more excluded. 

Not Divination and not Herbology, but as he was here he might as well try the others, although he was glad not to feel at all anxious about the results. The understanding between he and Snape might be vague, and a bit fraught and confusing, but it did make things easier. At that thought, he looked around for Draco one more time. He was signing up below the large animated sign for Charms – the letters jigged, spangled, and the S did a neat pirouette – and Harry took a step that way before hesitating. At worst he would just walk away, Draco never satyed for a scene he didn't initiate. He took another more decided step before Ron caught his arm, telling them all about Percy's terribly boring excitement over the Centre, and he was dragged along before he could say anything. 

* * * 

". . . and the Ministry is pleased to welcome students from houses and schools scattered all over Wizarding Britain and Ireland."

Hermione shifted on her feet, nervously glancing about, catching Ron's bright smile and looking away. He'd dared her to take on every challenge and he'd signed up for them all too, even Divination at which they'd both laughed. He touched her hand and she smiled, curling her fingers briefly around his then letting go.

"We especially welcome our judging panel – Montrose Vermeel, Chair of the Wizarding Revival, the Lady Allen of the New Avalon School for Young Witches. . ." 

Hermione craned to see Mr Vermeel, a very small man with a deep red embroidered robe; she had to peer around and between bodies in the bustling crowd to get a look at him. A very nice robe indeed, and he looked rather genial, like a small beardless Dumbledore. He smiled and shook the hand of several other judges.

"Huh." Ron gave her a curious look. "I guess I'm surprised he looks so ordinary," she said. "You know, I think I'd begun to think he was just made up by the Minister."

"Nah, Percy thinks he's terrific." Ron rolled his eyes and grinned. "Of course Percy would."

". . . and lastly, Doctor Daffyd Hawkes of the Pwyll College of Merlin." There was a loud round of applause as the last name was announced and a bulky and surprisingly young man with red-brown hair stood to receive it. He shook Dumbledore's hand, then Vermeel's. . . 

"College of Merlin?" Ron said in Hermione's ear.

"Loonies, really," she said. "Boys only and really opposed to all modern schooling for wizards."

She felt Ron's smile and turned to breathe it in. "Is there ever anything you don't want to know, Hermione?"

"No," she laughed, "not really." Ron shifted and blushed, as if he'd been about to say or do something bold and inappropriate. She almost wished he had. 

"Come on, Mione," he said taking her hand, "Qualifying for the duels. I bet Dean a galleon he can't remember how to hold the wand right."

* * * 

In the large open hall lit by sunlight through French windows between white colonnades – architectural overkill, Remus thought – the competitors were positioned in evenly space rows and asked _en masse_ to take a duelling stance. Rather militaristic, even for a much more rigid boarding school than Hogwarts. He remembered meeting a boy from a Scottish Wizard's academy once, rather dim but very pretty in strong-jawed way, who'd told half-drunken stories about morning drills, but he couldn't remember the name now. If you went to Hogwarts you rarely knew other schools existed, except for those safely on the continent. It was something of a feat, having them all – or at least most of them – drawn together like this. But a hard kind of power to harness and not for the first time Remus wondered how on earth Voldemort or his followers thought this was going to work.

There were probably more than fifty competitors, rather more boys than girls, most in the highly inappropriate blue silk robes but some in duelling robes with trousers, popular when he was young for just about everything – more flattering than floor length robes and allowing more movement. He'd seen Draco's last night, although he wasn't wearing them now. Saving them for when the impact would be greatest, of course, like last night. 

He'd been angry to the point of slamming his own door and leaving Draco in the corridor when they came in. Even Dumbledore had given them a concerned look the boy had been so blatant. It wasn't that it could ever be kept a secret, or that secrecy was necessarily their best path anyway, but there were protocols, he was still a student, and. . . he'd known that wasn't it. He was furious because it had all been about Severus, not about him at all. He was jealous, and he couldn't even blame the phase of the moon for how much he wanted to shake the boy till he. . .something, probably begged for forgiveness. 

Draco had come in dressed in sleek charcoal-coloured hide overlaid with silvery grey scales at the wrists and shoulders, moving like he knew how he looked, turning to let the short robe flare out over the trousers as he drew his wand. 

"I thought you might like to hex me," he'd said, with a faint smile.

"Hex you?" 

"Mm hm. First one naked loses."

It was an insultingly blatant kind of manipulation, which of course meant that wasn't Draco's aim at all. He'd peeled away the dragonhide and fucked him over the window seat under the thickening moon, his white skin chilled by the glass. At the last Draco had leant back to kiss him, his tongue dragging across Remus's teeth and his apology humming against his lips. 

As students with poor form were dismissed the others were paired up and instructed to cast and deflect _Stupefy_. It seemed harsh to Remus, walking behind the rows and trying not to look at Draco, but at least those who couldn't deflect were very clearly out. Close by him an annoyed Dean Thomas was dismissed for incorrect wand position after casting, and others were also selected out for formal reasons – he saw Mandy Brocklehurst furiously stride away further up the line, a natural dueller, but he'd told her about the stance more than a dozen times. 

They were re-paired and moved on to the sleep spell he had expected for the first round. All the remaining Hogwarts students should go through on that. It was nevertheless a tense two hours before the final sixteen were left, and only when they were congratulated, instructed to return to the main hall at 3pm, awarded their medallions of merit, and sent away to lunch did he finally let himself look. Draco smiled and came towards him, spinning the shiny bronze disc in one hand. 

* * * 

In the hustle of the lush buffet even the losers were happy, and every Hogwarts student seemed to have qualified for at least one demonstration this evening. Ron was looking for Harry in the crowd – Flitwick had steered his boys to the other end of the pavillion right after qualifications – but Hermione was listening to the other Gryffindor girls discover they absolutely hated the New Avalon girls. 

"And of course we both qualified for Divination within seconds. It was obviously a rosebush, completely obvious as soon as I closed my eyes, but you know the New Avalon girls are famous for Divination and every single one of them is through even though it's such a small school."

"Really?"

"True. And for Hogwarts it's only us and Morag and Ernie Macmillan, although I don't see how he can be competing when he's not participating in the Rite. Shouldn't there be a rule?"

Her mouth half full of scone, Pavarti turned back to her friend's question. "I think there's a rule."

Hermione smiled goodbye as Ron dragged her off, muttering, "They hadn't even heard of New Avalon last night, and now they know all about their special training."

"You didn't want to qualify for Divination anyway, at least we're both in Transfiguration."

"Colour change," Ron said with some disgust. "It was a bit second year, wasn't it?" 

"Oh look, there's Harry!"

**__**


	22. b Between the Acts

Series: Minor Arcana. Sequel to "Declaro" (rating R). You really need to read that first. Find it through the author link @ ff.net or skyehawke.com. 

Rating: This section – PG13

Pairings: This section – elements of HP/DM, SS/HP, SS/DM, DM/RL, RW/HG.

Notes: Part B of the final chapter. One more (long) section coming (I may even split it so as not to take too long). There may be some changes to the final edit. 

Spoilers: Various up to the end of Book IV. No OotP whatsoever.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and various corporate tentacles.

Archiving: Only where I've agreed. 

Feedback/Reviews: Please, it's just plain encouraging. I'm especially grateful to people who give me some direction as to what works and what doesn't.

The Gryffindors all laughed as Harry, Ron and Hermione's reminder-balls circled one another and finally sorted themselves out only to all head the same way. 

"Three Gryffindors!" Seamus exclaimed, wrapping an arm around Dean's shoulder and basking in the fete atmosphere. "The house of champions."

"Four Ravenclaws," Hermione said.

"Really?" 

"Cho, Lisa, Terry and Morag," she said, counting them off on her fingers.

"Mandy would be furious."

"The stance thing."

"The stance is bloody stupid if you ask me."

Laughing anyway they followed the three balls back to the hall, where a nervous Justin almost jumped on Hermione in his eagerness to have someone to walk out onto into the centre with. He grasped her hand tightly, and if Ron looked surprised he didn't say anything. On the edge of the crowd they all hesitated, but the balls spun and hummed as if impatient and eventually they moved out onto the polished wooden floor. The Ravenclaws were on the other side, Draco and Pansy to their right, not talking to each other, and the half a dozen strangers looked even more nervous without the same kind of group support.

The organiser for this round was Percy Weasley, but if you missed the obvious family resemblance there was no sign his brother was one of the duellers. He called the pairs in an even crisp voice and waited for the lines and the stance to be accurate and completely still before giving the signal – a flash of white light at all four corners and a clear bell tone. 

* * * 

LAVENDER Well that was just bizarre. Millicent gives me one of those looks and I'll catch her up later, but I have so got to hear what happens when Hermione has less of an audience. What a come down for her, not that I don't like Hermione, I really do. Oh bother, there are just too many people. There she is, being comforted by Lisa Turpin, and ooh I really can't stand Lisa Turpin. All the Ravenclaws are a bit like that, but Lisa acts like you don't have the right to breathe unless you're getting good marks. She's all stiff upper lip of course, and Lisa's all understanding because she lost too, but Lisa never had a chance against Draco Malfoy. Hermione was beaten by Pansy Parkinson! At Defence! And really, Draco maybe rather evil, but he just gets sadder and sadder all the time, and I think if Millicent's right and he and Professor Lupin have found solace in one another's arms, well I think why not.  Thrown out of his home, pretty much, because of being that way inclined, and Remus being spurned all his life as a monster too. . . And Harry and Ron run up with pumpkin juice for her, and you'd think they'd all lost even though the boys won. Harry just knocked that Irish boy half way across the room. And I think he was showing off to Draco. I saw him look. I bet we're going to have a real Love Triangle there. Remus is actually quite handsome, for an older man, when he's not looking all sickly. Look at that almost pout, sometimes I think Hermione's just a bit of an egotist. Of course Ron's being all super cautious because there's always a chance that it's his fault. Why you'd want your girlfriend to be beaten by Pansy I've no idea, but Ron is a bit strange lately. Yes, she's definitely mad at him; I can tell when she gets that crease in her forehead – which is not at all attractive. Oh! The ball for the Divination grading! Where on earth is Parvarti? I'm never going to be able to find my calm and quiet centre now, not for a crystal ball, and maybe not even cards. I'm always good with tea leaves, but people so look down on leaves. Sybil said I would have a hard journey this weekend. 

* * * 

Severus stalked through the halls and rooms, accumulating faces, names, voices, snatches of conversation. The most alarming thing about it all was perhaps not what Lucius, or Voldemort, might want with it, but how unpredictable it all was. Take Vermeel's horror at that fool Hawkes's impassioned praise for the Revival. Nothing is more appalling to a toadying administrator than actual fervour amongst the followers. 

He would have anticipated some sign of Lucius given the Revival's centrality, but he was no doubt planning a grand entrance. Severus thought, however, that Lucius may have underestimated Draco's interest in the kind of attention Lupin offered. Being on Draco's side wasn't an easy aim, but Lupin could probably meet all the boy's suspicion with comfortable reassurance. Bitterness was pointless, he wouldn't bother pretending he wasn't jealous. He'd very nearly sent Draco a congratulatory note for having driven him from the staff and student dinner in anger. It could be covered as disgust, the boy was still a member of his house, a student, various other poses could be arranged, but the boy had scored points against him there. He would like to explain to Draco that he had provided the perfect example of why this infatuation would never come to anything but he didn't care to expose how much it had grated. 

At the door to a large room in which the grading of qualified competitors in Transfiguration was taking place, Severus paused and pretended to watch. 

And Harry had been hurt by his reaction, which was careless at best. Yes, it bothered him that the boy had been hurt. Despite rumours to the contrary, he was capable of at least passing attachment to a boy who was offering himself up that way to be guided, admired, and enjoyed, even without any of the other incentives. All of which required he show more caution in order to avoid misunderstandings.

Inside the room Granger successfully transfigured her wooden chest into a tree. The very significant difference in size would gain her extra points, and she was probably anxious to compensate for that strange performance in the duels. Pansy Parkinson was an easy girl to underestimate, but she wasn't in Granger's league. Parkinson stood to one side of the door, watching Granger intently, with a half smile. It would bear watching. Severus had been waiting for a way to use Ms Bulstrode's talents, and she would be only too pleased to put that old resentment to use. 

"Professor Snape."

"Mr Potter," Severus said, turning. Neville Longbottom and the Patil girls were with Harry – concerned, puzzled, interested. He noticed the reminder-ball spinning to one side. "You're competing in Transfiguration?"

"No." The ball began to hum and spin faster, and the Ravenclaw Patil slipped into the room, trailing the ball, her sister, and Longbottom too. "The qualifying was a colour change charm and I just messed it up," Harry said. "I wasn't concentrating I suppose."

"You don't seem particularly devastated." 

"It's not that important," Harry said, moving across the sunny hall to the windows. Severus went with him. "And I'm still trying out for Potions and Charms."

"And you're still in the duel." The boy blushed, as if he hadn't. . . "I was watching."

"I didn't see you." 

"I'm not likely to miss an opportunity to harangue you about a poor performance."

Harry looked up at him, half sitting on the ledge of the window, and almost but not quite smiled. "What are you waiting for then?" 

"Your performance seemed to be entirely adequate," Severus said. "Or are you just asking me to show an interest?" 

Harry shrugged, but with far less self-consciousness than Severus might have anticipated. He was tempted to say he shouldn't be mistaken for Remus Lupin, but that wasn't a conversation he wanted to have today. 

He moved to one side of the window, looking out over the boy's shoulder at the illusion of a bright summer's day. Ostentatious and unnecessary he'd thought, but a pleasant effect right now with the sun framing Harry in the window. "Very well. I would recommend you enter the Combined Magics section; it's more likely to suit your skills."

"I didn't know you thought I had any skills."

"They're not as refined as they might be."

Harry smiled as competitors and officials began to file out of the room, and a peal of bells heralded the appearance of reminder-balls for the next round. Harry's popped into view, spinning in a dim purple light and humming just above head height. 

"I'd better go," he said, hopping up to follow it.

"Wait, Mr Potter. I'll walk with you."

"Okay," Harry said with slow surprise, glancing around at the passing people, many of whom looked their way, some of the Hogwarts students blatantly staring.

"I'm not going to hold your hand or anything, Potter. I think they can cope with the sight of us walking together." 

Harry smiled again. Severus could see it out of the corner of his eye although the boy didn't look his way. The audience seemed to have swelled a little and gathered. He nodded an acknowledgement of Fudge and Hawkes as they passed, and the younger wizard's eyes lingered on Harry for a moment before returning it. At the door, Severus hesitated. He had intended to continue his observations of the event before this evening's meeting of the Order. Hawkes glanced back at him, at the boy. Nevertheless, he was interested in what the Ministry imagined constituted a trial of skill in Potions these days. 

* * * 

Sirius was the last to arrive. He shook Remus's hand, greeted everyone else, even sparing a curt nod for Severus, and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder. Arthur and Remus inquired about Europe and Sirius joked about the French. As the tea things were gracefully arranged under Dumbledore's direction, Sirius said, "And did you win, Harry? I can tell you did."

"Well, I qualified for tomorrow in the duel, and in Charms and Potions," Harry replied, "although Severus says he has no idea how I managed to recognise _Dreamless Sleep because I've never. . ." Harry stopped at the vicious glare Sirius was suddenly directing over his shoulder and actually turned to see what was wrong before he realised what he had said. _

"This arrangement might be convenient, Snape," Sirius said, gently pushing Harry to one side as he leaned closer to Severus's chair, "but if you get too familiar with my godson you'll regret it."

"Fortunately," Severus said, with that especially sharp especially mocking voice Harry was beginning to think he saved especially for Sirius, "nothing about my arrangements with Harry," he emphasised the given name pointedly, "involves you at all."

Professor McGonagall interrupted sharply – "This is not why we're here, gentlemen" – although she may as well have said "boys."

"Indeed," the Headmaster said, very distinctly, taking up his tea. "Perhaps Arthur should begin."

In the pause, Harry tried unsuccessfully not to look at Severus, who sat a little more stiffly than usual in his chair, and at Sirius, who was still glaring his way. Arthur began hesitantly, outlining changes in the Ministry as it channelled resources to the preservation or revival of wizarding culture – artefacts and locations, old practices and beliefs. He was most worried about its popularity amongst Ministry staff. 

"I was even told the reduction of our Department was to be expected because relations with Muggles were hardly part of wizarding tradition, which is what interests everyone these days. A sentiment, I might add, to which no one objected, even though any attention to ancient history actually shows wizards and Muggles living much more closely together than now. Learning from each other," he said, with a clear appeal to the Headmaster.

"I am sorry, Arthur," Dumbledore said, "this will be a temporary setback, I'm sure. We will uncover the interests at work in the Rite, and things will return to a more sensible balance."

"With respect, Headmaster," Severus said. "Even if we can prove that Voldemort's interests permeate the revival itself, much of this fascination doesn't come from the Death Eaters themselves as you must have noticed. It will be very difficult to displace."

Professor McGonagall agreed that while there was no sympathy for Voldemort in the Rath Cruacha, the Irish wizards too seemed to view the revival as generally positive.  Sirius said that in Europe, while some of the older schools were clearly participating, the revival's appeal was far less, and it was often seen as amusing, or at least unnecessary. 

"Of course it's unnecessary," Arthur said, turning his new fountain pen in his hand, "but what wizards and witches really need is apparently not popular these days."

The tone of the meeting was often set by Arthur's equanimity as much as by Dumbledore and Remus, and his depression rather increased the tension. 

"The dispersal of the Rite makes it hard to counteract but also hard to use," Severus finally said. "Despite the apparent opportunity, I doubt the trial will be the site of any major confrontation." 

"But we don't know that," Remus said.

"And yet we allow the children to be exposed there," Professor McGonagall added, "a long way from the wards of Hogwarts." Everyone felt the unspoken concern about Harry, including Harry.

"Draco," he said and, when everyone looked at him, "We need to know more; a different perspective on what they want from the Rite. Lucius Malfoy especially."

"So we use his son?" Sirius said.

"We invite Draco to join the Order," there was a sudden anxious shifting. "Not all the way at first, but he already knows something about it and he'd help if we asked, wouldn't he, Remus? Isn't it worth a try?"

"What exactly does he know?" Sirius said, darting another angry glance at Severus. 

"No," Remus said, at the same time. 

"Why no?" Harry returned. "I know he wants to be trusted by us." Everyone hesitated to respond or had nothing to say. "And why would you be involved with him if you didn't think he meant that? If you thought he was still on Malfoy's side?"

"Involved?" Sirius said, turning to look at Remus along with everyone else except, Harry noted, Dumbledore and Severus.

"I really don't think. . ." McGonagall began.

"Really, Lupin, he's Ron's age – I must. . ." Arthur was saying.

"It's unimportant," Severus said loudly, cutting them all off. "It's Order business, isn't it? Give the boy a reason to betray his father, but nothing so secure as to provide a real, an independent, alternative. He might be dangerous then. So we won't ask him, will we Lupin?"

"Remus would never do anything like that," Harry said indignantly.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," Severus continued. "He's a Malfoy, and a Slytherin, and has no real feelings of consequence."

"You won't discuss it with me, Severus," Remus said, "so don't assume you know. And don't pretend Draco is my naïve victim."

"But Remus," Professor McGonagall said tiredly, "was it really necessary to sleep with the boy?"

"It's not the sleeping I find ethically dubious," Severus said, and Harry was almost angry with his smug tone. 

"I am quite sure my ethics in that regard hold up just as well as yours," Remus said, so mildly that it nearly passed without any particular impact.

"What the hell does that mean?" Sirius finally exclaimed, turning to Harry, and it was almost a relief to think he might actually be held partly responsible if they were going to have this out.

There was a sweep of silence and everyone more or less sank into their respective chairs. Dumbledore said, rather sternly, "Thank you," and lowered his wand to the desk again.  "The situation with Draco Malfoy is delicate," he continued. "I am sure we all appreciate the difficulty of the choices he is facing. . ."

"What choices?" Harry said, feeling quite definitely angry now. "What choices does he have?" 

"Harry," Dumbeldore said, in that kind voice that made him feel like a confused child, "I'm sure your friendship will be very important for Draco, but it might not be wise to think you understand him."

"Millicent Bulstrode," Severus said, without prelude. "Malfoy was using her, more or less, as a spy. He thinks her more amateurish than she is, but Harry and I did catch her and she may be malleable. I would have to consider it more closely."

"You trust Millicent Bulstrode more than Draco," Harry said in an astonished tone. 

Severus turned to him. "I understand her motivations, and so does she. I think it's a more contained possibility." Harry clearly waited on him to elaborate and with a slightly annoyed glance at Sirius he said, "She's unpopular and underestimated among her peers and, I think, at home. She will respond to a gesture of trust and appreciation," he looked at Dumbledore, "with a great deal of commitment. And she needs to know very little in order to be useful." 

"Which one is Millicent Bulstrode?" Arthur asked.

"The dog-faced girl," Sirius said. Several appalled or annoyed looks shot his way. "I'm not saying she's not a good enough sort of girl," he didn't say 'for a Slytherin,' "but that's how the other students know her – that's the one she is."

"And as the dog-face girl," Severus said, tiredly, or perhaps even sadly, "she has little to lose by helping Malfoy, but she is clever enough to see the risks and may see an advantage in being useful to both sides."

"You would understand that," Sirius muttered, and Harry caught himself about to look at Severus. More than anyone, except maybe Dumbledore, Harry knew which side Severus was on and there was no need to wonder. . . he looked, and Severus met his glance, as if he expected it, with a tiny tight smile. 

"How much would she actually know?" Arthur asked. 

"Nothing," Severus said. "But could easily seek to be more useful and discover something we don't know."

With a whickering noise, the Headmaster's clock drew their attention. A little wooden owl on the upper rim ruffled its feathers and hooted as the hand swung to _Everyone Must Sleep. On the perch below a little wooden cat briefly flicked and then re-curled its tail in disinterest._

"Yes, quite right," Dumbledore said. "We'll have nothing new until the morrow and we all need our rest if we are to be, as they say, vigilant."

With some deft manouevring on the part of he and McGonagall they managed to part without further argument or accusation. Harry made his way to his dormitory not tired in the least but more unhappy than he'd been for a week.

* * * 

People he didn't even know wished Harry well as he walked with Hermione along the covered path between the Centre and the Malfoy Marquee. Spatters of rain made it seem like the cold grey sky was pressing on all sides upon the white awning. 

"Well done, Harry," a passing witch said, and Harry rolled his eyes at Hermione.

"You wouldn't think you'd actually won the Charms exhibition and came second in Transfiguration. I could never change a quill into an owl, you know – it was brilliant, you should have won that too."

"That Rhys boy was very good. And really there wasn't so much competition in Charms." Harry nearly laughed because she seemed to have forgotten he'd been one of her competitors – not that he'd been particularly good. "Ron should never have been disqualified there – it's entirely arbitrary to label that animation spell a Transfiguration rather than a Charm."

A bunch of girls laughed and called out their congratulations. "Point is," Harry said more quietly, as they joined the queue near the entrance to the enormous white marquee, "that I haven't won anything. It's all more rubbish about the Boy Who Lived."

"Harry, the duel is obviously the prestige event, and to make the top eight is a real achievement." Her tone betrayed her disappointment there despite the ornamented pins declaring her success on her black school robe. 

"Pansy's win was a fluke, Mione. You know that. It wasn't anything to do with, you know what. How could it be?"

"No, I know it wasn't the bond. She intimidated me, and I let her. I hate the way she looks at me sometimes. It's like. . . something under my skin, do you know what I mean?"

Harry didn't have to answer because was asked for his invitation. He finally found it, shrunk very small to fit in a tuck of his robe, but a white hand stopped him before he could he draw his wand.

"Nonsense, Mr Potter," Narcissa Malfoy said. "We know who you are, and you're always invited."


	23. c Between the Acts

****

Pervinco IX (b): Between the Acts

The crowd inside the Centre was much larger than the day before, and Harry had been glad to leave it behind. The Malfoy marquee was quiet in comparison to the riotous atmosphere of the main hall with its flights of illusionary owls and snitches – Harry had found the knee-high figures re-enacting famous duels and other scenes particularly un-nerving – where they'd left a relatively united group of Hogwarts students enjoying the carnival. It wasn't until Harry and Hermione moved into the main area of the marquee, a garden setting more extensive than the exterior should have allowed, that Harry began to wish they'd stayed with the others. 

Mrs Malfoy led them across the grass, a hand in the crook of Harry's arm, which he realised gave the impression of him leading her, not the other way around. As she said how pleased they were he could come, and how she'd been following his progress with interest, they came to a group centred on Professor Sinistra, who greeted Hermione enthusiastically and welcomed Harry too. 

They were offered drinks and food that Harry barely looked at before declining. Perhaps he should have come with Severus, but of course he was annoyed with Severus and wasn't about to ask for his help. 

At his side again, Mrs Malfoy said, "Please let the staff know if you'd prefer something else, Mr Potter." 

"I'm fine, thank you."

"I've never been a sports enthusiast myself, but I would very much like to see the finals this evening. Unfortunately, I've no tolerance for one social event after another these days so I'll have to wait on news of your success at home." 

Harry couldn't help returning her smile, at least a little. "You don't expect Draco to win then, Mrs Malfoy?"

"I expect one of you to win," she said pleasantly, "so I know I won't be disappointed. And please, call me Narcissa. After all, my son is a supplicant for your _consensio_, and I therefore hope to see much more of you."

Before Harry could reply, Professor Sinistra joined them. 

"Narcissa, have I told you how exceptionally Ravenclaw is performing?"

"I'm pleased to hear it, Celeste."

"Of the top twelve duellists, four were from Ravenclaw – half of all the Hogwarts students – and we've had finalists in every exhibition."

"That is impressive – and how many have you won?"

"Well, Hermione Granger is an honorary Ravenclaw."

"Would you say so, Mr Potter?"

"Oh," Harry said. "Um, please call me Harry."

"I'm honoured. Harry is too polite to say so, Celeste, but Miss Granger is as yet certainly a Gryffindor, as is the Parvati girl who won Divination and the boy everybody says will clearly win Herbology. What is his name, Harry?"

"That would be Neville Longbottom," Harry said, with more enjoyment than he probably should, adding, "Narcissa," a little uncomfortably.

"I'm sure Terry Boot has an excellent chance in Potions, and also in the duel; as does Cho Chang," Sinistra said, looking back at Cho on the other side of their small cluster, glowing as usual in the formal version of her white gown, her hair piled high in shining curls. 

"She's beautiful," Narcissa conceded. "Don't you think so, Harry?"

"Oh," he said with surprise. "Yes. Of course." Professor Sinistra didn't look especially pleased with his response. "And a very good duellist," he added.

"I'm sure. Celeste, I was so sorry to hear about the accident with Miss Chang's wand. Draco assured me he had just over-estimated something or other about her likely response. I can't quite remember what, you know what a head I've always had for these things."

"Yes, Narcissa, I recall perfectly." Professor Sinistra smiled thinly at Harry. "I suppose we will see how things turn out in the end. Now I really should go and talk to Professor Flitwick," she said, looking to where he was standing near the entrance. "He seems quite alone."

They watched her walk away in silence. Harry glanced at Narcissa's long fingers flexing slightly against her pale grey robe and wondered if he dared ask if she didn't like Professor Sinistra. It was a ridiculous thought as he knew quite well she wouldn't give him a useful answer. 

"She's a very capable woman," Narcissa said without prompting. "And those are always so dangerous, don't you think?"

He met her eyes, searching for the right version of 'why would you say that to me,' when a too familiar voice behind them said, "Hello my dear, I'm so pleased you found Mr Potter."

Lucius Malfoy came around the other side of his wife and gave Harry what probably passed for a welcoming smile, although to Harry it looked entirely threatening. Narcissa excused herself to welcome some new arrivals.

Harry immediately looked for Hermione, who was in a close conversation with Cho and a tall young man with deeply tanned skin. She wasn't looking his way.

"Celeste is always so solicitous of poor Filius, isn't she?"

"Well, they're friends," Harry said, immediately wishing he hadn't answered. "And he's still in mourning for his wife – who was killed by Death Eaters last Christmas, you'd remember that," Harry added as bluntly as he could.

"Of course, I read about it," Malfoy said, and Harry looked at him sharply because it sounded like he was smiling, but he looked quite solemn. "A tragedy."

"Did you want to talk to me about something, Mr Malfoy?"

The man angled his head back in a smile. "To the point, Mr Potter. A trifle rude, but practical." 

Harry firmly instructed himself not to look away and not to show fear, and realised that he had begun the much practiced repression charm without thinking. He couldn't help an urge to smile at the thought that Severus would be pleased, and a strange look crossed Malfoy's face.

"I wanted to speak with you about Draco."

Harry looked back to the entryway and, as if on cue, Draco came in, still wearing that infuriatingly sexy black and silver costume. He really was such a show off. Illusory sunlight rippled a gleam across the supple hide.

"What about Draco?" Harry said. Behind more arrivals he didn't recognise, he saw Severus Snape's tall profile and looked back at Draco's father with a sudden rush of confidence. 

"I feel I owe you an apology," Malfoy said, and Harry was sure he must have looked shocked. "I have rather pushed you and my son together." 

Harry watched as Draco was approached by a group of young men, of whom Harry only recognised Blaise. They were clearly admiring his duelling costume, and Harry thought Draco seemed particularly bored, although he'd likely practiced that look for ages.

"However, on reflection," Malfoy said smoothly, "there's no point going against a young man's heart."

Severus moved away from the entrance, nodding and speaking to a few people, and Harry watched him faintly hesitate as he saw Draco. After a moment Severus turned aside to speak to a passing couple, just as Lucius said, "So I've decided to reach an agreement with Severus for Draco's immediate future. I thought you should be told."

* * * 

Draco watched Severus come towards him, glanced away so as not to watch Severus coming towards him, and nervously looked around at who might see them meet. Harry, walking from Lucius towards Granger, glancing his way. Lucius himself, one eye on him discreetly as he bowed ostentatiously to the Lady Allen. Narcissa, who would know somehow, even though she appeared to be preoccupied by flirting with Flitwick. 

"Congratulations, Draco."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Could I speak with you for a moment?"

Draco glanced around again, as if for some objection or reason but he was always going to say yes. He walked a little to one side, noticed several people register their movements. 

"Your performance in the Potions grading this morning was very creditable." 

Draco didn't respond, but he did look more directly at Severus, who was looking at him intently. That wasn't unusual, but for once he wasn't sure of the nature of the intensity. 

"I've never myself used Featherfoil in a general healing potion, but I can certainly see why it would be effective." When Draco still didn't reply, he added, "I would be very surprised if you were not placed first at the end of the grading."

"Thank you, Professor Snape."

"And of course you've progressed as expected in the duel, although I find the arena mentality rather tiresome myself. I trust you will also compete in Combined Magics this afternoon, which I think does look like a real challenge."

As Severus spoke, Draco watched his eyes never quite rest on him – not just watching others watch them but actually not looking at him. The slight discomposure set something crawling under Draco's skin. "Did you want something, Severus?" he said, and their eyes met again.

"Draco," Severus said, in a low even register, and hesitated. "How are you?"

The crawling feeling was chased by a hot flush of anger. It was too much and not enough for Severus to say to him, here, in this space, with all these people watching and waiting and some of them knowing more than they should. With a subtle intake of breath he said, as lightly as he could, "He's a surprisingly good lover, if that's what you wanted to know."

"I can assure you it's not." 

Draco couldn't think what it was he felt – it was just a huge something, hot and mobile.

* * * 

Remus watched from the entryway, where the attendant patiently ignored him after he said he didn't have an invitation but was waiting for someone who did. Draco turned and walked away from Severus towards the farthest end of the marquee. He had perhaps looked a little pale, but it had already been a long day. 

He could admit to a little relief when Severus finally reached him. The curious looks of those inside and those with invitations were discomfitting. Although probably, he thought with some amusement, no one here cared that he was a werewolf so much as they cared that he lived on a teacher's salary with only personal possessions to his name. 

The attendant accepted Severus's explanation with only a flicker of surprise and they entered. A waiter offered drinks and though he wouldn't usually he took wine. Severus took food from the next silent waiter and immediately passed it to Remus, turning to greet an acquaintance before Remus could express his irritation.

Remus saw Harry across the way, hands clasped behind his back and eyes somewhat lowered. Remus doubted if he heard more than half of whatever Oliver Wood was saying to him. 

"Narcissa is following Draco now," Severus said quietly from just behind him. "My business with Lucius will not take long. Be quick. And don't offend her." 

Letting go of an urge to growl, Remus left his glass with the nearest waiter on his way through the gathering crowd. 

* * * 

"You brought a pet, Severus. How quaint."

"Very droll. While I'm free, perhaps we could find somewhere to talk privately?"

"Rather singular of you to bring your competitor and someone I despise to my party, Severus. It seems worth mentioning."

"Perhaps there's somewhere else we could discuss this?"

"This may be a temporary space, but it's a Malfoy space, Severus, we can talk privately here. Perhaps no one else can, but we can. Tell me though, where has your vicious hound trotted off to now?"

"Chasing your wife down, I believe. He wants to be charming."

Lucius coughed slightly into his hand and smiled widely. "How very amusing. I am glad you brought him."

"I live to entertain. But you shouldn't underestimate Lupin's importance. He's increasingly important to Dumbledore, who has confidence in him, so I wouldn't treat his interest in Draco quite so lightly. He's not easily mined for information."

Lucius didn't respond, which was an acknowledgement of sorts between men who'd known each other a long time. 

"I believe you have something for me," Severus said, after a pause in which a waiter passed them both by with only a glance. Lucius unfurled a hand, on which appeared a thin scroll. Severus took it with care, and slipped it into the side pocket of his robe.

"You're not going to read it now?" They exchanged familiar smiles. "I warn you, I've been working on an ink that casts Imperius as you read it."

"You've been working on that since you were fifteen," Severus replied easily.

"It will be my master work," Lucius said, beckoning a waiter. "A glass of Frontignac, Severus? I recall it was once a favourite."

"I find it too sweet for a more experienced palate," Severus said, taking the glass anyway.

"Which reminds me that you faithfully promised to come and have dinner with us."

"I doubt that I did, but I'd be most pleased to, of course."

"And will you bring your new eromenos?" Lucius turned directly to where Harry was staring at them. The boy looked away. "So is he as innocent as he seems, Severus? You never did say."

"I doubt Draco would appreciate his accompanying me to a family dinner."

"Draco will need to learn to share your attentions, assuming we reach an agreement."

"And you would consign him to that?"

"It's occurred to me lately that Draco needs some abject lessons in his own interests."

"I would have thought that described most of his childhood."

Lucius smiled, turning his glass in the light. "You are attached to him, then. It's good to know."

Severus sipped his wine, and looked at it with distaste. "Definitely too sweet for a mature palate. Perhaps you might discuss Daffyd Hawkes with me while I find some tea."

* * *

In the service run behind the marquee Narcissa Malfoy came upon Remus Lupin embracing her son without any expression of surprise and without hastening her gait. Remus held her eyes for the minute Draco would allow himself to pretend he didn't know she was there, and when the boy breathed out heavily against his shoulder he stepped back, keeping a hand on Draco's shoulder, and inclined his head to her.

"Mrs Malfoy."

"Professor Lupin," she said, as her son turned to face her, his expression calm. 

"Mother, you look wonderful. The grey suits you."

"And you look stunning, my dear," she said, holding out her hand, and he went to her, glancing only momentarily at Remus. "I knew it would suit you," she said.

"I guessed that you had chosen it. Hartwood has the money but no taste."

"On the subject of which," Narcissa said, running a hand through Draco's hair, "where is Miss Parkinson?"

"She objected to rumours concerning my sexual tastes," Draco said, his amusement clear. 

"Or at least to your not refuting them," his mother said with the merest hint of a reprimand. 

"Mrs Malfoy. . ."

"Ah, the teacher who seduced my son. What a pleasure to meet you again, Professor Lupin."

"Please, call me Remus."

Narcissa Malfoy laughed, and it wasn't a particularly pleasant sound. "Of course. Why not."

"Mother. Please."

Narcissa drew her wand, and Remus schooled himself not to flinch because Draco didn't, but he knew his uncertainty was obvious. She swept the wand in a broad arc and what she said was familiar and strange at the same time. 

"Draco?" she said, immediately her wand was lowered.

"I want the apartment in Paris that came to me as a Rite gift," Draco said quickly. "Remus can get me a place at Paris I, and university suits me more than anything else right now. Mother," he said, putting a hand on her wrist, "will you help?"

She took a small step away, out of his tentative embrace. "I'd thought perhaps you'd taken an interest in teaching."

"I don't think it's really my style." 

"I'm sure if Severus can manage. . ." she said, her hands running through the folds of her robe and her eyes pulling up to Remus again. "It's not only your life at stake in this, Draco."

"Did you want me to be selfless now?"

She smiled rather more warmly and put the wand away. "Certainly not. But I'll have to consider it carefully. This is not just a favour I can do for you because I wish it."

Draco moved to put an arm around her waist again and press a kiss to her jaw.

"I was looking forward to having you at home," she said, glancing at Remus and turning away. "I'll owl you." At the entry to the main marquee she said, "Make sure you speak to your father before you leave, Draco."

* * * 

A couple of servants wandered by in the other direction, waiting till the mistress was well out of sight to laugh and eat the leftovers on their trays. 

It went better than Draco expected, really. Everyone was still human, for a start. In a temper his mother was inclined to vindictive transfiguration, although he vaguely recalled that her specialty was actually Divination.

"Draco?"

He turned back into Remus's arms and let the warmth and the scent drift through his mind. A stubbled chin, a soft creased mouth, brushed over his forehead. Remus was never smooth. 

"Do you want to leave now?" 

"Duels," Draco said. "And Combined Magics."

"Is it important enough?" Remus asked, still warmly wetly moving across his face.

"You know I have to," Draco laughed. Remus pulled back and looked at him. "I'm not a boy, Remus, I know what I need to do." 

Remus nodded and then they were kissing, hard and open and soft and fast, and when Remus broke away Draco nearly laughed at his look of surprised arousal. Different, and he knew it. That was different. 

"Is it a shield or a conceal spell?" Remus said. 

"Conceal. It's her own design. We have a least ten minutes more, I'd say. Did you have something in mind?"

Remus put his hands to the leather fastenings of Draco's smooth black trousers and kissed him back into the taut canvas wall.

* * *

Somewhat obscured by the heavy blue curtain at the rear of the podium, Harry watched Draco move through the crowd of people congratulating him. Madame Vermeel – he knew her because she'd presented him with his prize for the exhibition in Combined Magics – was clearly still trying to convince Draco to attach the ornamental pin to his duelling costume. With a disarming smile Draco finally allowed her to pin it in place and she let him go on to someone else. 

Ron clambered up the side of the podium. "Are you sure, Harry? Last chance."

"I thought last time was the last chance."

"Well the last last chance – c'mon Harry, it's family or Hogwarts and we're the family option." He gestured at the huddle of Weasleys and Hermione, standing smiling by the main doors. George bounced impatiently and Bill thwacked him in the arm. They were all understandably happy, after all the trouble with Ron and Hermione things must seem better. Arthur and Percy were joining them now and Hermione looked their way expectantly.

"Ron," Harry said, "I'm sure." Harry looked pointedly over at Draco amongst his admirers, and then at Severus, in the far corner, talking to Dumbledore near the archway. He really didn't want to make it that obvious, but Ron would worry and then Hermione would worry, which was much more of a problem because she would want him to actually explain and if she was really concerned it might carry over to Mrs Weasley, which didn't bear thinking about. 

"Are you really sure?" Ron asked, glancing back at his family, where Hermione and his mother were showing Percy the ring. 

"You don't want to know how sure I am."

"No," his friend laughed, "probably not. Good luck then," he said, "but be careful Harry. I don't know that Snape would really share well, let alone Malfoy."

"What? No!" Harry went furiously red. "I never meant. . . I need to talk to Draco," he said with emphasis, "that's all."

"Okay," Ron said, leaping down to the floor, "and that can't wait till tomorrow?"

Harry faltered, but Ron was grinning. "Just go, Ron," he said, "and congratulations!"

"I bet I'm the only guy being applauded for coming second," Ron said happily. "Twice." 

"See you tomorrow night, Ron." And his friend was gone, a red head bouncing through the dispersing crowd

Ron's departure left only Terry Boot and Draco from the final four. The boy from the College of Merlin had disappeared with his schoolmates half an hour ago at least. Terry was bailed up in a corner being interviewed by Rita Skeeter for _The Witches Weekly_ and Draco was apparently supposed to talk to every senior wizard still in the Centre.

Putting a hand to his own pin – gold and green glass, at least he assumed it was green glass, it would be really disturbing if it was anything more expensive, though he wasn't sure why – Harry decided to wait some more. He wasn't about to let Severus not see him tonight, and he really did need to talk to Draco, because he didn't want things going on like this for any longer. 

They'd been cut from the Potions final at the same time – Harry on points and Draco for using a rain charm which the judges said meant he'd illegally added water, an ingredient not on the prescribed list. Although Draco didn't speak to him then he did smile, more or less, as they were leaving the room. And Draco had still been there applauding when Harry won the Combined exhibition by breaching the magical shield of a girl named Oona, even though he'd been excluded two rounds before when his Patronus spell took too long to work. Harry had tried to talk to him then, but Professor Flitwick and Dr Hawkes had caught him up in a conversation about whether or not girls could perform aggressive magic, and he'd lost him in the crowd. 

Then Severus had arrived and Harry had forgotten to keep looking because Professor Snape had put a hand on his arm in public. Arthur and Molly Weasley had taken a unified step back in surprise as Severus said, "Very well done, Harry." Harry rather hoped Draco hadn't seen the way he blushed. 

From his vantage point, Harry watched Draco pull free of the crowd once more with a gesture in the direction of the bathroom. An exchange Harry couldn't hear suddenly focussed much of the attention on Lucius Malfoy, who led the dedicated core of the crowd away, clearly expounding on what it took to be a wizarding champion these days. Harry slipped down the back of the podium and towards the bathroom. 

Entering the hall Harry was stopped by the couple embracing near the door. Sangermano's hands were at Draco's waist and running through his hair. 

"Draco," Harry said, and as the other man pulled back Draco staggered against the wall and Harry went to him without thinking. 

There was a sharp black pain behind his eyes and a wave of dizziness. As it cleared he heard Sangermano say, "So glad you could join us, Harry," in his most charming voice, as if he wasn't dragging Harry Potter into a men's bathroom, pushing a stumbling Draco Malfoy before them. 

Draco stumbled into the hand-basin and Sangermano drew Harry in and shut the door. 

"Stay there," he said, and Harry was almost too surprised by the apparent assumption that he wouldn't fight back to actually draw his wand. Sangermano moved back to Draco, wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him upright and cupping his face with one hand.

"It wouldn't have come to this Draco," Sangermano said, putting his fingers to the ornamental pin gently, "if you hadn't been. . ."

Harry stunned him, crossed the floor to Draco, who was still clinging to the basin, and tore the pin from the leather with some difficulty. When it finally came free Draco collapsed against him and, just in case, with his other hand Harry tore his own pin from the unresisting silk. 

Draco started to find his feet a little as they stepped around Sangermano's prone form and by the time they reached the door he turned back and said, weakly, "Bind the bastard as well, will you?"

Harry had cast the spell, his free hand still supporting Draco, when the door behind them flew open, admitting three figures in Death Eater masks.

* * * 

"Drop your wand," the nearest man said, and Harry did, but at the last moment cast _Stupefy_, a move he'd actually been practicing for the duel but couldn't remember during the competition. The first man fell but the second hit Harry with a curse he only partly deflected, sending his left arm instantly numb, as the third caught him with something else. He was collapsing before he heard Draco say, "Let me help."

There was a brief conversation that he could barely hear let alone understood and then Draco was pulling him to his feet. On the floor below, sort of swimming into view, he saw his green and gold pin and remembered the darked-haired girl with blue eyes whose shield he'd pierced with a shattering charm to win it. Had she known; did they all know? He couldn't move, but his head span out of control with possibilities. 

". . . you'd have to let him move though," Draco was saying.

"It'd be safer to float him," a rather familiar voice said.

"You can't Apparate with a floating body," Draco said, in a bored and irritated tone. 

"Sure you can," another said, and Harry felt a tingle in the ends of his toes and his right hand twitched. 

"And you're going to attempt it with three of us and three floating bodies," Draco said incredulously.

"We're not taking the Italian."

"So what was his role, then?"

"We can't just stand around here, Draco," the voice he almost knew said. 

Harry tried to remember what had happened to his wand, felt Draco slightly widen his stance, and then he also heard them coming, just before the door opened. A rush of curses flew and Harry desperately tried to raise his eyes to see Severus and he was sure it was Remus too and then as Draco was tugged in one direction he felt himself pushed in another. 

"I've got you, Harry," Remus said softly and he managed to roll his eyes up to see Draco held firmly between two masked men, one of whom drew Draco close just as the other Apparated. Harry heard another curse and there was a horrifying wet noise. The Death Eater holding Draco momentarily adjusted his grip as he raised his wand and, suddenly, Draco lunged forward. 

One stumbling step from the man's grasp Draco clasped his hands together, clearly said "Home," and vanished.

As Draco had moved Remus did too, and Harry fell to the floor, hearing Snape's voice rise in anger. Harry hoped it wasn't an Unforgiveable, just as the thud of the tiled floor hit him. 

* * * 

Harry pulled himself from the narrow sofa and dragged himself towards the raised voices coming through a partly open door on a bright bar of light. 

"How did the boy come to have such a thing in the first place?" 

"We should be very happy that he did," Dumbledore said. 

"He's awake," Remus said as Harry pushed open the door to find himself in Dumbledore's office. Severus, Remus, Dumbledore, Fudge, and Madame Pomfrey.

"Where's Draco?" Harry said, surprised at the stickiness of his lips and the sound of his voice.

"How are you feeling now, Mr Potter?" Minister Fudge said, as both Severus and Madame Pomfrey got to their feet. "Your assistance is sorely needed in sorting out this confusion."

"Where's Draco?" Harry rasped to Severus, who already had a hand under his arm. 

"_Accio_ water," Severus said, catching a flask just as Harry leant heavily against his arm. 

Harry drank greedily from the flask as Severus held it, licking the cool not quite fresh taste into his swollen lips.

"The ring should have taken him home," Severus said, "but his mother says he never arrived."

Harry tried to smile through a headache that was desperately trying to work its way out from his brain through his eyes. "Idiot," he said softly.

"I'm going to let that pass as you're recovering from a particularly nasty combination of curses," Severus said, allowing Harry to lean more closely against him, his head more or less resting on his shoulder now. 

Fudge coughed in a disapproving way, he saw Madame Pomfrey coming with a blanket and a bowl in her arms, and Remus asked what he meant as if from far away. 

"That's not his home," Harry said, and Remus was already out of the chair and to the door as Harry's eyes closed involuntarily.

* * *

Remus checked the wards on his rooms and there was nothing, but there wouldn't be. He took a second to put his hand to the door. 

The rush of scent told him first, and Remus untensed in relief. Draco was sitting in the window seat in the unlit room, the moon in his hair identifying the huddled silhouette. 

Remus closed the door behind him softly. 

"I'm as surprised as you are," Draco said, without turning to look at him. 

When he reached him, Draco was still staring out of the window, wrapped in his old black school robe, his hair in disarray. "It's probably based on place of residence," Remus said, although he wanted to touch him more than he wanted to figure it out.

"No. I looked it up when he first gave it to me. It's my perception of home."

"And it was Hogwarts?"

Draco turned to look at him, his face that preternatural calm he now associated with Draco's angry distress. "Oh it gets worse than that," he said, and the cold light pattern by the windows ran across his face and shoulder as he rose. "It was here."

Remus leant in to kiss him. Draco kissed him back. He wanted to roll him in their bed in delight, lick his body from throat to feet, push into his body to find the heat you could never see on the outside, but instead he kissed him softly, like a welcome, and let him take it wherever he would. 

"I'm tired," Draco said, pulling away. Remus watched him bunch the robe more closely about him and stand with an incongruous kind of grace. As Draco walked silently to the door he told himself not to expect any more and that there was plenty of time to talk about what came next.

"It might be safer if you sleep here," he heard himself say when Draco put his hand to the door. It suddenly seemed a terribly manipulative thing to say, although it might be true too, and he added, "I can sleep out here if you'd rather."

Draco leaned back against the door. "Do you like Paris, Remus?"

"Not particularly," Remus said, walking to the open bedroom door. At the reassuring sound of Draco following, he added, "But I've always wanted to."

* * *

Harry woke to sunlight streaming through familiar bed curtains in Gryffindor colours. He'd learnt not to roll over and look for Ron in the other bed but he still remembered every morning that there was no point doing it. The sound of feet hitting the floor thus caught him by surprise, and he was already sitting up when Severus appeared in the opening. 

"Um. . . you're here?" 

"You're astute in the mornings, Mr Potter."

"Is everything all right? What happened?"

"Sit," Severus said, and when Harry had pushed himself back against the pillows he came around the edge of the bed inside the curtains with a small tray.

"Drink this," he said handing Harry a cup and sinking, much to Harry's surprise, onto the side of the bed. He place the tray on the side-table and pointed to the second cup. "And in ten minutes," he said, "drink that."

"If you tell me what happened."

"You're hardly in any position to bargain." Harry rolled his eyes and Severus added, "and sarcastic comments about my bedside manner will only mean I pay less attention to what the next batch tastes like." 

Harry suppressed the desire to pull a face, although the smell of the potion didn't help.

"Sangermano and Everson have been arrested on a range of charges, including several related to the misuse of Imperius."

"The pins," Harry said. "Everson was the unconscious one?"

"Quite, but don't interrupt. I have less than nine minutes before you drink that and go back to sleep."

Harry waved for him to continue and relaxed into the pillows, noticing the very small gap between Snape's thigh and his own with a nervous excitement he knew was really inappropriate. 

"You will have to give evidence against them" – Harry did pull a face at that – "as will Draco." Harry looked abruptly at Severus's expression, because something was odd in the way he'd said Draco's name and Severus was never revealing in quite that way.

"Draco was found here at Hogwarts," Severus said, holding his look. "Safe. Although there is some confusion about his part."

He didn't ask, but Harry gathered. . . "I went to talk to him, Sangermano was attacking him, or something. I tried to save him, Death Eaters came, Draco saved me." Severus blinked, which Harry was almost certain was an expression of relief, and he added, "A lot of it's confused, but I think that's what happened."

"Everyone, including the Minister, has decided to agree that the trial was being used by Voldemort to capture outstanding students. It's unlikely anything will be proven against the Revival itself but the Ministry's involvement in the Rite is under review."

"Who could they blame if not the Revival?" Harry asked.

"Not many could manage that complicated combination of curse and charm – the pins on examination have revealed quite a lot about their maker, but the evidence is also contradictory." After a pause, Severus added, "at least I personally doubt it."

Harry went to ask who the evidence pointed to when the silence around him finally registered and pulling himself further up in the bed he said, "Where is everyone?"

"The seventh-year students who went home after the tournament have been allowed to stay there for an extra day, but the rest of the school has returned to the timetable." Harry glanced at the windows again. "Which means I have a class to get to, yes, but your body has struggled with the effects of the battle between the _Chalbys_ and the form of _Imperius_ placed on you. You need another day's rest, and while your dormitory is empty this is more discreet."

"Why do we need discretion?"

"It's best that the _Chalybs_ remain a secret for now." 

Something about that jarred with a vague memory for Harry but his headache was coming on quickly. Severus was already urging him to drink the second cup.

"I'll be back later," he said as Harry drank, "and Madame Pomfrey will be in between times to see how the potion is working. I expect you to be quite yourself tonight."

"Why not keep me in the dungeons?" Harry said, and then blushed at how that sounded.

"Of course," Severus said, getting to his feet, "because the school always places invalid children in the bedrooms of staff members." 

Harry went to say something, he wasn't sure what, but Severus was smiling at him. He lay back down and watched him leave in a pleasant sleepy sort of blur. 

* * *

As Severus let himself back into the Gryffindor senior dormitory he had to laugh at his own urge to sneak. He had a password, a right, was years past where that rivalry should have ended, but it still felt like prohibited enemy territory.

He closed the door to Harry's room behind him. It was neat, mostly unornamented except for a a photograph and a few small trinkets on the bedside chest. He'd looked at them all while the boy was sleeping – all smooth pale young skin and even untroubled breathing. His glasses were there too; Harry looked so different without them, so much less like the irritating Potter boy Severus had taught for six years. Perhaps he should investigate a charm to make them unnecessary, but he supposed Harry could do that himself if he didn't want them.

Nothing in the Hogwarts curriculum would help much to tap or guide what the boy was capable of, the almost spontaneous improvisation that had been so evident in the final competition yesterday. Severus had noted the eager eyes of more than one pretender to the right hand of Voldemort, Fudge, Dumbledore or Malfoy. Those intuitive skills were as risky as they were useful and so different to Severus's own talents. It was a little daunting to imagine what Harry might be with Draco's training and carefully crafted attitude.

The boy probably should be awake now if the effects had really passed. Severus felt a flash of concern, quickly followed by anger at everyone involved: at Lucius for not sharing the plan; at Everson, Zabini and Entwhile, probably Entwhile, for thinking to conduct it right under his nose; at Lupin for his irrational response that Severus understood better than he wanted to. 

As he pulled back the curtains, Harry rolled towards him and opened his eyes. 

"Hi."

"You're awake."

"Observant."

"Don't test me, Mr Potter."

Harry slid up onto one elbow, the covers slipping down off his shoulder and chest. In the evening light, amid rumpled sheets, with his messy hair and open face, Severus acknowledged he was beautiful in a clean almost accidental way – it would be easy to forget he was Harry Potter. The risk itself was rather appealling, especially as it rubbed up against the very different appeal of a young man's inexperience. Severus let himself become all too quickly erect watching what was almost certainly Harry's first conscious attempt at seduction. 

"Shouldn't you be dressed," he said, not as harshly as he should. "I may have been Madame Pomfrey."

"I'm delirious with something-or-other," Harry replied, with an almost confident smile. 

"Really."

Harry pulled the covers further away across his stomach, his hips. Severus's prick swelled in appreciation, but he was hardly likely to be drawn into anything so inadvisable, in the Gryffindor dormitory of all places, with six years of irritating bravado tossing in their beds downstairs. The boy had gone no further, a tangle of dark curled hair, the fleshy base of his prick just visible. . .

"Severus?" Harry said, quietly.

"Yes, do it."

He foolishly watched the boy jerk the covers away, his prick jumping out towards Severus, who somehow found himself sinking to the bed, one hand on the mattress between Harry's pale naked thighs. He carefully didn't touch the boy, who pushed up anyway and opened his mouth in a flood of evident arousal. 

"Touch yourself."

Harry's eyes flew open, a startled green. "What?"

"You're trying to seduce me into your bed, aren't you? Do it, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes and touched his hand to his prick, breathing out hard as if he'd never done it before and very tentatively tracing his fingers along the smooth taut skin. 

Severus closed his hand around the back of Harry's, folding the boy's hand around his own prick gently but firmly. Harry was watching him then, eyes wide and mouth slightly open as Severus guided his stroke.

"Oh." 

Severus tightened and sped the next stroke, leaning forward over the boy, who thrust his face up to be kissed.

All through the long slow biting kiss, the urgent lips and teeth, Severus guided a firm even stroke, the boy's hips canting up against his lowering fist and Severus's own prick pulsing hotly, pressed tightly into the fold of his robe.

Harry pulled his mouth away to breathe and panted, his hips starting to miss the rhythm of their combined stroke, "You too?" 

Without answering, Severus drew back and, feeling the boy shiver and jerk under him, bent to touch the flat of his tongue to the head of Harry's prick. The hips thrust hard and Harry gasped a strained keening noise out as Severus pushed his mouth down with a downward stroke of their hands, which ran back up with a tighter grip, sticky and wet from Severus's mouth and Harry groaned and came in silent bursts of warm bitterness. 

Severus drew away, letting himself smile at the sprawl of shocked boy, his attention caught by the flecks of semen on his robe and hand. For a moment he stared at them, shining in what was left of the light through the window and the curtains. 

He drew his wand and cleaned them both carefully, and when he finally met Harry's eyes they were less frustrated or upset than intently observant. Severus leant down to him again, pushing a hand along Harry's neck and into the wild tangle of hair and kissed him firmly, tracing the boy's lips with his tongue as he pulled the covers back over him. "I'm glad you're well," he said, a little surprised at how very sincerely he meant it.

Harry touched his hand as it drew away. "Don't go." 

"I can't stay here, Harry."

"Stay long enough."

And Severus hesitated.

__

The End.


End file.
